BWif.  W  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


ONLY  A  GIRL: 


OR 


A  PHYSICIAN  FOE  THE  SOUL. 


.A.  :R,o:M:.A.2src:E 


FROM     THE 

OP 

WILHELMINE    VONHILLERN. 


BY 


MKS.  A.  L.  WISTEK. 


p  HILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT   &    CO. 

1870. 


Entered,  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

J.   B.  LIPPINCOTT   &    CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAOB 

I.  "ONLY  A  GIRL" 5 

II.  THE  STORY  OF  THE  UGLY  DUCKLING    ...  21 

III.  ATONEMENT      .                50 

IV.  THE  SAD  SURVIVORS 68 

V.  UNDECEIVED 79 

VI.  SOUL-MURDER 99 

VII.  DEPARTURE  118 


II. 

I.  "  ONLY  A  WOMAN" 137 

II.  THE  SWAN 159 

III.  THE  VILLAGE  SCHOOL 182 

IV.  THE  GUARDIAN 200 

V.  FRUITLESS  PRETENSIONS 209 

VI.  EMANCIPATION  OP  THE  FLESH        ....  222 

VII.  EMANCIPATION  OF  THE  SPIRIT        ....  234 

VIII.  "WHEN  WOMEN  HOLD  THE  REINS"      .        .        .  265 

IX.  Vox  POPULI,  Vox  DEI 275 

X.  NOWHERE  AT  HOME 287 

XI.  INHARMONIOUS  CONTRASTS 322 


2131437 


CONTENTS. 


III. 

CHAPTER  PAQB 

I.  THE  STRENGTH  OF  WEAKNESS        ....  340 

II.  THE  WEAKNESS  OF  STRENGTH        ....  366 

III.  SILVER-ARMED  KATHCHEN 376 

IV.  BATTLE 388 

V.  SCIENCE  AND  FAITH 412 

VI.  SENTENCED 435 

VII.  THE  ORPHAN            459 

VIII.  BLOSSOMS  ON  THE  BORDER  OF  THE  GRAVE           .  471 

IX.  IT  is  MORNING  AGAIN 482 

X.  KETURN             500 

XI.  "GIVE  us  THIS  DAT  OUR  DAILY  BREAD"   .        .  514 

XII.  THE  THIRD  POWER  529 


ONLY    A    GIRL; 


CHAPTER    I. 

"ONLY  A  GIRL." 

IN  a  level,  well-wooded  country  in  Northern  Germany, 
not  far  from  an  insignificant  village,  stood  a  distillery, 
such  as  is  frequently  to  be  found  upon  the  estates  of 
the  North  German  nobility,  and  in  connection  with  it 
an  extensive  manufactory,  —  the  estate  comprising,  be- 
sides, a  kitchen-garden  overgrown  with  weeds,  a  few  fruit- 
trees  overshadowing  the  decaying  remains  of  rustic  seats 
long  fallen  to  ruin,  and  a  dwelling-house,  well  built, 
indeed,  but  as  neglected  and  dirty  as  its  guardian  the 
lean,  hungry  mastiff,  whose  empty  plate  and  dusty  jug 
testified  to  the  length  of  time  since  the  poor  creature  had 
had  any  refreshment  in  the  oppressive  heat  of  this  July 
day.  No  one  who  looked  upon  this  picture  could  doubt 
that  the  interior  of  the  house  must  correspond  with  its 
cheerless  outside,  and  that  the  gentle,  beneficent  hand  was 
wanting  there  that  keeps  a  house  neat  and  orderly,  cares  for 
the  garden,  and  attends  to  the  wants  of  even  a  dumb  brute. 
Where  such  a  hand  is  wanting,  there  is  neither  order 
nor  culture,  no  love  of  the  beautiful,  nor  sometimes 
even  of  the  good, — too  often,  indeed,  no  joy,  no  happi- 
ness. There  was  no  one  in  the  court-yard  or  garden ; 
nothing  was  stirring  but  a  couole  of  cheeping  chickens 

1*  (5) 


6  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

that  were  peeping  around  the  corner  of  the  dog's  kennel, 
in  hopes  of  stray  crumbs  from  his  last  meal.  They  came 
on  cautiously,  their  little  heads  turning  curiously  from 
side  to  side,  in  fear  lest  the  dog  should  make  his  appear- 
ance; but  he  kept  in  his  kennel,  his  head  resting  upon 
his  paws,  and  his  bloodshot  eyes  blinking  over  the  dis- 
tant landscape.  The  hungry  fowls,  grown  bolder,  pecked 
and  scratched  around  his  plate,  but  vainly:  there  was 
nothing  to  be  found  but  dry  sand. 

Beside  the  well  stood  a  churn,  and  a  bench  upon 
which  lay  a  roll  of  fresh  butter,  which,  neglected  and 
forgotten,  was  melting  beneath  the  sun's  hot  rays,  and 
dripping  down  upon  the  weeds  around.  Perhaps  the 
starving  dog  was  suddenly  struck  by  the  thought  how 
grateful  this  waste  would  be  to  him  were  it  only  within 
his  domain  ;  for  he  started  up  and  ran  out  as  far  as  he 
could  from  his  kennel,  dragging  his  rattling  chain  behind 
him,  as  if  to  prove  its  length,  then  stood  still,  and  finally 
bethought  himself  and  crept  back  with  drooping  head  be- 
neath his  roof.  Outside  of  a  window,  upon  the  ground 
floor,  stood  a  couple  of  dried  cactus-plants,  and  several 
bottles  of  distilled  herbs;  the  cork  of  one  of  them  was 
gone,  and  its  contents  filled  with  flies  and  beetles.  Every- 
thing, far  and  near,  betrayed  neglect  and  dirt ;  but  the 
excuse  of  poverty  was  evidently  wanting.  The  exten- 
sive stables  and  accommodations  for  cattle,  the  huge 
out-houses  and  far-stretching  fields  of  grain  testified  to 
the  wealth  of  the  proprietor  of  the  estate.  A  comfort- 
able rolling-chair  standing  in  the  court-yard,  its  leath- 
ern cushions  rotting  in  the  sun,  seemed  to  indicate  the 
presence  of  an  invalid  or  a  cripple.  Only  the  lowest 
and  uppermost  stories  of  the  house  appeared  to  be  in- 
habited ;  the  windows  of  the  middle  floor  were  all  closed, 
and  so  thickly  festooned  with  cobwebs  that  they  could 
not  have  been  opened  for  a  long  time.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
swallows  were  the  only  creatures  who  could  find  comfort 
in  such  an  inhospitable  mansion ;  their  nests  were  every- 
where to  be  seen.  The  chickens  looked  enviously  up  at 
them,  and  hopped  upon  the  low  window-ledges  of  the 
lower  story,  as  if  to  remind  the  inmates  of  their  existence 
and  necessities.  Suddenly  they  fluttered  down  to  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  f 

ground  again,  for  from  one  of  the  open  windows  there 
came  a  child's  scream,  so  piteous  and  shrill  that  the  large 
dog  pricked  his  ears  and  once  more  restlessly  measured 
the  length  of  his  chain. 

In  a  low  room,  the  atmosphere  of  which  was  almost 
stifling  from  the  heat  of  an  ironing-stove  and  the  steam 
from  dampened  linen,  that  two  robust  maid-servants 
were  engaged  in  ironing,  a  little  girl,  about  twelve  years 
of  age,  was  standing  before  an  old  wardrobe.  She  was 
half  undressed,  and  the  garments  falling  off  her  shoulders 
disclosed  a  little  body  so  wasted  and  delicate  that  at 
sight  of  it  a  mother's  eyes  would  have  filled  with  tears. 
But  there  was  no  mother  near,  only  an  old  housekeeper, 
whose  bony  fingers  had  apparently  just  been  laid  violently 
upon  the  child,  who  was  crying  aloud  and  covering  one 
thin  shoulder  with  her  hand,  while  she  refused  to  put 
on  a  dress  that  the  woman  was  holding  towards  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now  ?"  an  angry  voice  called 
from  the  adjoining  room.  The  child  started  in  alarm. 
The  old  woman  went  to  the  door,  and  replied,  "  Ernes- 
tine is  so  naughty  again  that  there  is  no  doing  anything* 
with  her.  She  has  torn  her  best  dress,  because  she  says 
she  has  outgrown  it,  and  it  hurts  her ;  but  it  isn't  true : 
it  fits  her  very  well." 

"  How  can  the  miserable  creature  have  outgrown  any 
dress  ?"  rejoined  the  rough  voice  from  within.  "  Put  it 
on  this  moment,  and  go!" 

The  child  leaned  against  the  wardrobe,  and  looked 
obstinate  and  defiant. 

"  She  won't  do  it,  sir;  she  does  not  want  to  go  to  the 
children's  party!"  said  the  unfeeling  attendant. 

"  I  ordered  you  to  go,"  cried  the  father.  "  When  a 
lady  like  the  Frau  Staatsruthin  does  you  the  honour  to 
invite  you,  you  are  to  accept  her  invitation  gratefully.  I 
will  not  have  it  said  that  I  make  a  Cinderella  of  my 
daughter!" 

Little  Ernestine  made  no  reply,  but  looked  at  the  house- 
keeper with  such  an  expression  in  her  large,  sunken  eyes, 
that  the  woman  was  transported  with  rage ;  it  seemed 
scarcely  possible  that  so  much  contempt  and  hate  should 
find  place  in  the  bosom  of  a  child.  The  housekeeper 


8  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

clasped  her  hands.  "No,  you  bad,  naughty  child !  You 
ought  to  see  how  she  is  looking  at  me  now,  Herr  von 
Hartwich  I" 

With  these  words  she  tried  again  to  throw  the  dress 
over  Ernestine's  bead;  but  the  girl  tore  it  away,  threw 
it  on  the  ground  and  trampled  upon  it,  crying  in  a  trans- 
port of  rage,  interrupted  by  bursts  of  tears,  "  I  will  not 
put  it  on,  and  I  will  not  go  among  strangers !  I  will  not 
be  treated  so !  You  are  a  bad,  wicked  woman !  I  will 
not  mind  you!" 

"  Oh,  goodness  gracious !  was  ever  such  a  naughty 
child  seen !"  exclaimed  the  housekeeper,  looking  with  a 
secret  sensation  of  fear  at  the  little  fury  who  stood  be- 
fore her  with  dishevelled  hair  and  heaving  chest. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  stop  that  noise  out  there  ?" 
roared  the  father.  "  Must  I,  wretched  man  that  I  am, 
hear  nothing,  all  day  long,  but  children's  and  servants' 
squabbles?  Ernestine,  come  in  here  to  me!" 

At  this  command,  the  little  girl  began  to  tremble  vio- 
Jently ;  she  knew  what  was  in  store  for  her,  and  moved 
slowly  towards  the  door.  "Are  you  coming  ?"  called  the 
invalid. 

Ernestine  entered  the  room,  and  stood  as  far  as  pos- 
sible from  the  bed  where  he  was  lying.  "  Now,  come 
here  I"  he  cried,  beckoning  her  towards  him  with  his  right 
hand, — his  left  was  crippled, — and  continuing,  as  Ernes- 
tine hesitated:  "You  good-for-nothing,  obstinate  child! 
you  have  never  caused  a  throb  of  pleasure  to  any  one  since 
you  came  into  the  world ;  not  even  to  your  mother,  for 
your  birth  cost  her  her  life.  In  you  God  has  heaped 
upon  me  all  the  sorrows  but  none  of  the  joys  that  a  son 
might  afford  his  father;  you  have  the  waywardness  and 
self- will  of  a  boy,  with  the  frail,  puny  body  of  a  girl ! 
What  is  to  be  done  with  such  a  wretched  creature,  that 
can  do  nothing  but  scream  and  cry  ?" 

At  these  words  the  child  burst  into  a  fresh  flood  of 
tears,  and  was  hurrying  out,  when  she  was  recalled  by  a 
thundering  "  Stop !  you  have  not  had  your  punishment 
yet!" 

Ernestine  knew  then  what  was  coming,  and  begged 
hard.  "  Do  not  strike  me,  father  !  Oh,  do  not  strike  me 
again  1"  But  her  entreaties  were  of  no  avail. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  9 

With  lips  tightly  compressed,  and  her  little  hands  con- 
vulsively clasped  together,  she  approached  the  bed.  The 
sick  man  raised  his  broad  hard  hand,  and  a  heavy  blow  fell 
upon  the  transparent  cheek  of  the  child,  who  staggered 
and  fell  on  the  floor.  "  Now  will  you  obey,  or  have  you 
not  had  enough  yet?"  the  father  asked. 

"  I  will  obey,"  sobbed  the  little  girl,  as  she  rose  from 
the  floor. 

"But  first  ask  Frau  Gedike's  pardon!"  ordered  the 
angry  man. 

"  No!"  cried  Ernestine  firmly.     "  That  I  will  not  do  !" 

"  How !  is  your  obstinacy  not  yet  conquered  ?  Dis- 
obey at  your  peril !" 

"  Though  you  should  kill  me,  I  will  not  do  it,"  answered 
the  child,  with  a  strange  gleam  in  her  eyes,  as  her  father, 
endeavouring  to  raise  himself  in  his  bed,  stretched  out 
his  hand  towards  her. 

"  Oh,  fie !  are  you  crazy  ?"  suddenly  said  a  melodious 
voice,  just  behind  Ernestine.  "  Is  that  the  way  for  a 
man  of  sense  to  reason  with  a  naughty  child, — playing 
lion-tamer  with  a  sick  kitten  !" 

Then  the  speaker  turned  to  the  little  girl  and  said 
kindly,  "Go,  my  child,  and  be  dressed;  you  will  enjoy 
yourself  with  all  those  pretty  little  girls." 

Ernestine's  long  black  eyelashes  fell,  and  she  obeyed 
silently. 

The  strange  intercessor  for  the  tormented  child  was  a 
tall,  slender,  almost  handsome  man,  with  delicate  features 
and  a  certain  air  of  repose  which  might  rather  be  called 
impassibility,  but  which  was  so  refined  in  its  expression 
that  it  could  not  but  produce  a  favourable  impression.  His 
tone  of  voice  was  soft,  melodious,  and  grave ;  his  pro- 
nunciation faultlessly  pure.  An  atmosphere  of  culture 
which  seemed  to  surround  him  gave  him  an  air  of  supe- 
riority. His  dress  was  simple,  but  in  good  taste,  his 
step  light,  his  manner  and  bearing  supple  and  insinuating. 
It  would  have  struck  the  common  observer  as  conde- 
scending, but  the  closer  student  of  human  nature  would 
have  found  it  ironical  and  treacherous. 

In  moments  of  passion  such  human  reptiles  exercise  a 
soothing  influence  upon  heated  minds,  and  check  their 


10  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

violent  outbreaks,  as  ice-bandages  will  arrest  a  flow  of 
blood.  Upon  his  entrance  the  invalid  became  quiet, 
almost  submissive;  the  room  seemed  to  him  suddenly  to 
become  cooler;  he  was,  he  thought,  conscious  of  a  pleasant 
draught  of  air  as  the  tall  figure  approached  the  bed  and 
sank  into  the  arm-chair  beside  his  pillow. 

"  It  would  be  no  wonder  if  I  did  become  crazy  !"  Herr 
von  Hartwich  excused  himself.  "  The  child  exasperates 
me.  When  a  man  suffers  tortures  for  months  at  a  time, 
and  is  crippled  and  confined  to  bed,  how  can  he  help  being 
irritable  ?  He  cannot  be  as  patient  as  a  man  in  full 
health,  who  can  get  out  of  the  way  of  such  provoking 
scenes  whenever  he  pleases  !" 

"  You  could  easily  do  that  if  you  chose,  by  keeping  the 
child  in  the  rooms  above,  which  have  been  empty  for 
years.  Then  you  might  be  quiet,  and  people  would  not 
be  able  to  say  that  the  rich  Hartwich's  delicate  child  had 
to  sit  in  the  ironing-room  in  such  hot  weather, — it  is 
worse  than  unjust ;  I  think  it  unwise  !" 

"What!"  Hartwich  suddenly  interrupted  him,  "shall 
I  leave  the  child  and  the  servants  to  their  own  devices 
above-stairs,  whilst  I  lie  here  alone  and  neglected  ?  Or 
shall  I  hire  an  expensive  nurse,  and  make  every  one  think 
I  am  dying,  and  let  the  factory-hands  suppose  themselves 
without  a  master  ?" 

"That  last  cannot  happen,  for  they  long  ago  ceased  to 
regard  you  as  their  master;  they  know  that  I  am  the 
ruling  spirit  of  the  whole  business.  As  for  your  talk 
about  the  expense  of  a  nurse,  such  folly  can  only  be  ex- 
plained on  the  score  of  your  incredible  avarice,  which  has 
become  a  mania  with  you  of  late.  For  whom  are  you 
hoarding  your  wealth  ?  Not  for  your  child  ;  you  will 
leave  her  no  more  than  what  the  law  compels  you  to  leave 
her  ;  still  less  for  me,  for  you  have  always  been  a  genuine 
step-brother,  and  have  bequeathed  me  your  property 
only  because  I  would  not  communicate  to  you  the  secrets 
of  my  discoveries  without  remuneration;  and  you  would 
rather  give  away  all  your  wealth  at  your  death  than  any 
part  of  it  during  your  lifetime.  And  I  assure  you  that 
if  I  am  to  be  your  heir,  which  perhaps  may  never 
be,  I  would  far  rather  go  without  a  few  thousand 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN-  FOR    THE  SOUL.  \\ 

thalers  than  witness  such  outrageous  neglect  of  a  child's 
education!" 

The  invalid  listened  earnestly.  "You  are  talking  very 
frankly  to  me  to-day,  and  are,  it  seems  to  me,  reckoning 
very  confidently  upon  my  not  altering  my  last  will  and 
testament,"  he  said,  in  an  irritated  tone  of  menace. 

Without  a  change  of  feature,  the  other  continued :  "  With 
all  your  faults  and  eccentricities,  you  are  too  upright 
in  character  to  punish  my  candour  in  the  way  at  which 
you  hint.  You  know  well  that  I  mean  kindly  by  you, 
and  that  I  am  an  honest  man.  I  might  have  required 
large  sums  of  money  from  you.  Upon  the  strength  of 
the  increase  of  income  accruing  from  my  exertions,  I 
might  have  insisted  upon  your  constituting  me  your 
partner,  and  much  else  besides;  but  I  have  contented 
myself  with  the- modest  position  of  superintendent,  and 
with  the  certainty  that  by  your  will  (God  grant  you  length 
of  days !)  a  brilliant  future  may  be  prepared  for  my  child 
when  I  am  no  more.  These  proofs  of  disinterestedness, 
I  think,  give  me  a  right  to  speak  frankly  to  you !" 

"  What  is  all  this  circumlocution  to  lead  to  ?"  asked 
Hartwich,  who  had  grown  strikingly  languid,  while  his 
speech  was  becoming  thick.  "Be  quick,  for  I  am  sleepy." 

"  Simply  to  this, — that  you  either  remove  Ernestine  to 
the  upper  story,  or,  what  would  be  better  still,  away  from 
the  house." 

"  Away  from  the  house !     Where  to  ?" 

"  Why,  to  some  institution  where  she  may  be  so  edu- 
cated that  it  need  be  no  disgrace  hereafter  to  have  to  own 
her  as  a  relative.  The  child  will  be  ruined  with  no  society 
but  that  of  servant-maids/grooms,  and  village  children." 

"Bah!"  growled  the  invalid,  "what  does  it  matter?" 

"If  you  are  indifferent  as  to  what  becomes  of  your 
daughter,  I  am  by  no  means  indifferent  as  to  my  niece, 
or  as  to  the  influence  that,  if  she  lives,  she  may  exercise 
upon  my  own  daughter.  As  Ernestine  now  is,  the  thought 
that  in  a  year  or  two  she  may  be  my  child's  playmate 
gives  me  great  anxiety.  Should  she  remain  here,  I  must 
send  my  little  girl  from  home,  or  she  will  be  ruined  also. 
But,  setting  all  this  aside,  I  wish  her  sent  away  for  your 
sake.  You  cannot  control  yourself  towards  the  obstinate, 


12  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

neglected  child ;  and,  as  long  as  she  is  with  you,  such 
scenes  as  have  just  occurred  are  unavoidable.  And  I 
have  learned  to-day  that  the  whole  village  resounds  with 
your  '  cruel  treatment'  of  your  own  child.  This  throws 
rather  a  bad  light  upon  your  character,  just  when  you 
wish  our  new  neighbours  to  think  well  of  you." 

"  That's  all  nonsense ;  if  they  think  the  factory  worth 
fifty  thousand  thalers,  they'll  buy  it,  whether  they  think 
me  a  rogue  or  an  honest  man,"  said  Hartwich. 

"  Think  the  factory  worth — yes,  that's  just  it,"  the 
silken-smooth  man  continued  ;  "  but  that  they  may  think 
it  worth  so  much,  much  may  be  necessary, — among  other 
things,  some  degree  of  confidence  in  the  present  proprietor." 

"And  you  have  the  sale  very  near  at  heart,  because 
you  would  far  rather  put  the  fifteen  thousand  thalers 
profit,  that  I  have  insured  to  you,  into  your  pocket  than 
win  your  bread  by  honest  labour,"  said  the  invalid  with 
sarcasm.  "  'Tis  a  fine  gift  for  me  to  throw  into  your  lap  !" 

"  A  gift  ?"  his  brother  asked — "  an  indemnification  for 
the  loss  of  income  that  the  sale  of  the  factory  will  occa- 
sion me,  and  without  which  indemnification  I  shall  cer- 
tainly prevent  any  such  sale.  You  are  always  represent- 
ing our  business  transactions  as  generous  on  your  part. 
I  require  no  generosity  at  your  hands.  You  pay  me  for 
my  services:  I  serve  you  because  you  pay  me.  Why 
pretend  to  a  feeling  that  would  be  unnatural  between  us  ? 
— we  are  step-brothers ;  it  would  be  preposterous  senti- 
mentality to  try  to  love  each  other." 

"  Most  certainly  you  take  no  pains  to  attach  me  to 
you,"  the  invalid  remarked. 

"  Why  should  I  ?"  his  brother  replied  with  a  smile. 
"  There  must  be  some  reason  for  everything  in  the  world 
— there  would  be  none  in  that.  You  would  not  give  me 
a  farthing  for  my  amiability;  whatever  I  get  from  you 
must  be  earned  by  services  very  different  from  brotherly 
affection." 

"  You  are  a  downright  fiend,  that  no  man,  made  of 
flesh  and  blood,  could  possibly  love !  You  always  were 
so  from  a  child :  how  you  tormented  my  poor  mother  ! 
You  know  nothing  of  human  feeling.  In  the  warmest 
weather  your  hands  are  always  damp  and  cold,  and  your 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  13 

heart,  too,  is  never  warm.  I  am  cross  and  irritable,  but  I 
am  not  as  utterly  heartless  as  you  are,  God  forbid !  You 
are  one  of  those  beings  at  discord  with  all  natural  laws, 
who  cast  no  shadow  in  the  sunshine."  The  sick  man 
closed  his  eyes,  exhausted,  and  large  drops  of  moisture 
stood  upon  his  brow. 

His  brother  took  a  handkerchief  and  carefully  wiped 
them  away.  "  Only  see  how  you  excite  yourself,  and 
all  for  nothing!"  he  said  in  the  gentlest,  kindliest  voice. 
"  Because  I  have  no  sympathy  with  fictitious  sentiment 
and  exaggerated  outbursts,  you  call  me  unfeeling.  Be- 
cause I  am  quiet  by  nature,  not  easily  aroused,  you  pic- 
ture me  in  your  feverish  dreams  as  a  vampire.  I  will 
leave  you  now,  or  I  shall  excite  you.  Lay  to  heart  what 
I  have  said  about  the  child  ;  for  if  the  present  course  is 
persevered  in,  it  will  bring  disgrace  upon  us,  and  that 
would  be  to  me  unendurable  !" 

Hartwich  made  no  reply;  he  had  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall,  and  did  not  look  around  until  his  brother  had  noise- 
lessly left  the  room. 

During  this  conversation  little  Ernestine  had  allowed 
her  dress  to  be  put  on.  When  this  was  done,  the  house- 
keeper left  the  room,  and  the  child  busied  herself  with 
lacing  upon  her  feet  an  old  pair  of  boots  that  were  really 
too  small  for  her. 

"That's  right,  Ernestine,"  one  of  the  maid-servants 
whispered.  "  Frau  Gedike  is  a  bad  woman  :  none  of  us 
can  bear  her — it  is  good  for  her  to  be  vexed,  and  we  are 
glad  of  it !" 

"  I  do  not  want  to  vex  her,  but  I  hate  her — and  my 
father,  too — he  is  cruel  to  rne,"  said  the  child,  with  the 
bitterness  with  which  a  defenceless  human  being,  when 
ill  used,  seeks  to  revenge  itself. 

"  Indeed  he  is  a  dreadful  father,"  Rieka,  the  elder  of 
the  maids,  whispered  softly  to  her  companion,  but  Ernes- 
tine heard  all  that  she  said  perfectly  well.  "  He  always 
wanted  a  son,  and  talked  forever  of  what  he  would  do 
for  his  boy  when  he  had  one.  And  when  the  child  was 
born,  and  was  not  a  boy  after  all,  he  was  quite  beside 
himself,  and  cried  furiously,  '  Only  a  girl !  only  a  girl !' 
and  rushed  out  of  the  house,  banging  the  door  after  him 

2 


14  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

so  that  the  whole  house  shook.  The  young  mother — she 
was  a  delicate  lady — fell  into  convulsions  with  sorrow  and 
fright,  and  took  the  fever,  and  died  on  the  third  day. 
Then  he  was  sorry  enough,  and  raved  and  tore  his  hair 
over  the  corpse,  but  he  could  not  bring  her  to  life  again. 
lie  has  been  well  punished  since  he  had  his  stroke,  and 
perhaps  it  was  to  punish  him  that  Ernestine  has  grown 
so  ugly ;  but  he  ought  at  least  to  show  his  repentance 
for  what  he  did,  by  kindness  to  the  sickly  little  thing,  in- 
stead of  abusing  her.  It  isn't  the  child's  fault  that  she's 
not  a  boy." 

Ernestine  listened  to  all  this  with  a  beating  heart,  and 
now  slipped  out  gently  that  the  maid  might  not  know 
she  had  overheard  her.  Outside  she  stopped  to  stroke 
the  dog,  but  the  poor  thirsty  brute  growled  at  her.  She 
saw  that  he  had  no  water,  and  took  his  can  to  the  well 
and  filled  it.  When  she  saw  the  water  gushing  so  spark- 
Hug  from  the  pipe,  she  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
let  it  run  upon  her  burning  head. 

"  Ernestine,  what  mischief  are  you  about  now?"  the 
housekeeper  screamed  from  the  window;  but  the  water 
was  already  dripping  down  from  the  child's  long  hair  upon 
her  shoulders,  breast,  and  back. 

"  The  sun  will  dry  it  before  I  get  to  the  Frau  Staats- 
rathin's,"  she  thought,  and  carried  the  dog  his  drink  ;  but 
when  she  attempted  to  pat  him,  he  growled  again,  because 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed  while  drinking. 

"  Even  the  dog  does  not  like  me,"  she  thought,  and 
crept  away.  "  Only  a  girl !  And  my  father  is  so  cross 
to  me  because  I  am  not  a  boy."  And  as  she  went  on  she 
repeated  the  phrase  to  herself,  and  her  step  kept  time  to 
it  as  to  a  tune,  "  Only  a  girl — only  a  girl !" 

From  the  window  of  the  upper  story  her  uncle  and  his 
wife  looked  after  her.  The  wife  presented  an  utter  con- 
trast to  her  husband.  She  was  uncommonly  stout,  and 
her  jolly  face  was  so  flushed  that  if  her  husband  had 
really  been  a  vampire  she  might  have  afforded  him  nour- 
ishment for  a  long  term  of  ghostly  existence.  But  he 
was  no  such  monster,  although  his  meagre  body  seemed 
to  bask  in  his  wife's  warm  fulness  of  life  as  some  puny, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  15 

starving  wretch  does  in  the  heat  of  a  huge  stove.  Any 
more  poetical  comparison  is  impossible  in  connection  with 
Frau  Leuthold ;  for,  in  spite  of  her  massive  beauty,  her 
thick  bushy  eyebrows,  her  sparkling  black  eyes,  her  thick 
waves  of  dark  hair,  the  whole  expression  of  her  large  face, 
with  its  double  chin  and  pouting  mouth,  was  coarsely  sen- 
sual. Yet  there  was  something  in  this  expression  that 
showed  that,  however  great  the  dissimilarity  between  the 
husband  and  wife  in  mind  and  body,  there  was  still  one 
thing  in  which  they  were  alike :  it  was  the  heart, — in  his 
case  ossified,  in  hers  overgrown  with  fat. 

There  are  some  persons  whose  mental  organization  can 
be  excellently  well  described  by  the  medical  term  "fat- 
hearted."  They  are  no  longer  capable  of  any  healthy 
moral  activity,  because  an  indolent  sensuality  has  taken 
possession  of  them,  crippling  their  energies  like  fat  accu- 
mulating around  the  heart.  Although  the  natures  of  hus- 
band and  wife  were  radically  dissimilar,  still  in  the  results 
of  their  modes  of  thought  there  was  enough  similarity  to 
produce  that  sort  of  harmony  which  is  maintained  between 
the  receiver  and  the  thief.  The  stout  brunette  was  a  worthy 
accomplice  of  her  slender,  fair  husband  ;  and  that  she  pos- 
sessed the  art  of  sweetening  existence  for  him  after  a 
fashion,  to  which  no  one  possessing  nerves  of  taste  and 
smell  is  altogether  insensible,  a  table,  upon  which  were 
delicious  fruits,  biscuits,  and  a  bowl  of  iced  sherbet,  bore 
ample  testimony.  Thus  the  refined  thinker  endured  the 
narrowness  and  coarseness  of  his  better  half  for  the  sake 
of  material  qualifications,  and  of  the  ease  with  which  she 
entered  into  his  projects  for  selfish  aggrandizement.  As 
a  cook  she  possessed  his  entire  approbation,  and  the  union 
between  these  utterly  different  natures  was  universally 
considered  a  happy  one. 

"  She's  an  ugly  thing,  that  Ernestine,"  said  the  affec- 
tionate aunt,  looking  after  her  pale  little  niece,  who  was 
walking  slowly  along  with  drooping  head.  "  Kind  as  I 
may  be  to  her,  she  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  me.  They 
say  dogs  and  children  always  know  who  likes  them  and 
who  does  not ;  so  I  suppose  the  child  knows  I  can't  abide 
her." 

"  Whether  you  like  her  or  not  is  not  the  question," 


16  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

replied  her  husband.  "  You  have  not  attached  her  to 
you,  and  that  is  a  mistake  ;  for  it  makes  us  sharers  in  the 
common  report  of  Hartwich's  cruelty  to  the  child.  She 
is  considered  in  the  village  as  the  victim  of  unfeeling 
treatment.  The  pastor  thinks  her  a  martyr,  whose  cause 
he  is  bound  to  adopt ;  the  schoolmaster  talks  about  her 
clear  head;  and  who  can  tell  that  all  this  nonsense  may 
not  waken  the  conscience  of  my  fool  of  a  brother,  and 
induce  him  at  the  eleventh  hour  to  make,  Heaven  only 
knows  what  changes  for  her  advantage  !  That  would  be 
a  blow — such  people  easily  fall  fyorn  one  extreme  into 
the  other.  Therefore  the  child  must  be  separated  from 
him.  If  I  cannot  succeed  in  having  her  sent  away,  we 
must  manage  somehow  to  attach  her  to  us,  and  so  stop 
people's  mouths."  An  involuntary  sigh  from  his  wife 
interrupted  him.  "  I  know  it  is  troublesome,  up-hill  work ; 
but,  Heaven  willing,  it  cannot  last  long.  Hartwich  is 
failing.  He  may  live  a  year ;  but,  if  he  should  have 
another  stroke,  he  may  go  off  at  any  moment ;  then,  for 
all  I  care,  you  may  be  rid  of  the  disagreeable  duty  at 
once,  and  send  Ernestine  to  boarding-school.  Still,  ap- 
pearances must  be  kept  up,  my  dear.  You  know  how 
much  I  would  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  my  reputation.  I 
cannot  bear  a  shabby  dress  or  to  dine  off  a  soiled  table- 
cloth ;  and  just  so  I  cannot  endure  a  stain  upon  my 
name." 

While  speaking,  he  had  seated  himself  at  the  table  and 
filled  a  goblet  of  sherbet  from  the  fragrant  bowl.  As  he 
was  sipping  it  delicately,  with  his  lips  almost  closed,  his 
wife  threw  herself  down  upon  the  sofa  by  his  side  with 
such  clumsy  violence  that  the  springs  creaked,  and  her  hus- 
band was  so  jolted  that  he  lost  his  balance,  and  the  con- 
tents of  his  glass  were  spilled  upon  his  immaculate  shirt- 
front.  Much  annoyed,  he  carefully  dried  his  dripping 
garment  with  his  napkin.  "  Now  I  shall  have  to  dress 
again,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  vexation. 

"  To  spill  your  glass  over  you  just  in  the  midst  of  such 
a  conversation  as  this  means  no  good,"  said  his  super- 
stitious wife. 

"  It  means  that  you  never  will  learn  to  conduct  your- 
self like  a  lady,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  17 

"Indeed!"  she  cried  with  a  laugh.  "So  I  must  learn 
aristocratic  manners  that  I  may  do  more  credit  to  your 
brother,  who  has  drunk  himself  into  an  apoplexy  !  A  fine 
aristocrat  he  is !" 

"  Just  because  he  disgraces  his  standing  I  will  respect 
mine ;  and  you  should  assist  me  to  do  so,  instead  of 
laughing.  And  when  his  estate  is  ours,  I  will  show  the 
world  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  born  in  an  aristocratic 
cradle  in  order  to  be  an  aristocrat.  The  dismissed  Mar- 
burg professor  will  yet  play  "a  part  among  the  elite  of  the 
scientific  and  fashionable  world  that  a  prince  might  envy 
him.  Wealth  is  all-powerful;  and  where  there  is  wealth 
with  brains,  men  are  caught  like  flies  upon  a  limed  twig." 

"Ah,  how  fine  it  will  be  !"  cried  his  wife,  excited  by  this 
view  of  the  subject ;  and  she  hastily  filled  a  glass  from  the 
bowl  and  drank  it  greedily. 

"  It  is  indeed  such  good  fortune  that  a  man  less  self-con- 
trolled than  myself  might  well-nigh  lose  his  senses  at 
the  thought  of  it !"  her  husband  rejoined.  And  there  was 
a  dreamy  look  in  his  light-blue  eyes. 

"  Then  we  can  keep  a  carriage,  and  I  shall  drive  out 
shopping,  with  footmen  to  attend  me,  and  Gretchen  shall 
have  a  French  bonne,  and  shall  be  always  dressed  in 
white  and  sky-blue.  We  will  live  in  the  capital,  and  you, 
Leuthold,  need  never  do  another  day's  work, — you  can 
amuse  yourself  in  anyway  that  pleases  you." 

And  the  wife  tossed  her  head  proudly,  as  though  al- 
ready lolling  upon  the  soft  cushions  of  her  carriage. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  could  ever  be  a  robber  of  time  ?"  he 
asked  her  with  a  sharp  glance.  "  No,  most  certainly  not. 
If  I  had  made  the  ten  commandments,  the  seventh  should 
have  been,  '  Thou  shalt  not  steal  a  day  from  the  Lord.' 
He  who  steals  a  day  seems  to  me  the  most  contemptible 
of  all  thieves." 

Uis  wife  laughed  and  displayed  a  double  row  of  fine 
white  teeth,  whose  strength  she  was  just  proving  by 
cracking  hazel-nuts. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  continued  Leuthold,  "that  I  should 
ever  be  content  with  the  reputation  of  a  merely  wealthy 
man  ?  No ;  I  long  for  other  honours.  As  soon  as  the  means 
are  in  my  power,  I  will  resume  my  old  scientific  labours, 

2* 


18  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

and  will  soon  distance  the  miserable  drudges  who  daily 
lecture  in  our  schools.  I  will  have  such  a  chemical 
and  physiological  laboratory  as  few  universities  can  boast. 
Ah  !  when  I  am  once  free  from  all  the  hated  servitude, 
the  miserable  toil  day  after  day,  in  that  detestable  factory, 
I  will  bathe  in  the  clear,  fresh  stream  of  science,  and 
make  a  name  for  myself  that  shall  rank  among  the  first  of 
our  time." 

"  Is  that  all  the  happiness  you  propose  to  yourself?" 
asked  his  wife  with  a  sneer. 

"  There  is  no  greater  happiness  than  to  play  a  great 
part  in  the  world  through  one's  own  ability;  and  if  my 
poverty  has  hitherto  prevented  my  doing  so,  my  wealth, 
in  making  me  independent,  shall  help  me  to  my  goal.  Make 
a  man  independent,  and  he  has  free  play  for  the  exercise 
of  his  talents  ;  while  the  hard  necessity  of  earning  his  daily 
bread  has  crushed  many  a  budding  genius  before  his 
powers  were  fully  developed.  It  is  glorious  to  be  able 
to  work  at  what  we  love ! — as  glorious  as  it  is  miserable 
to  be  forced  to  work  at  what  we  hate."  He  smoothed 
with  his  hand  his  thin,  glossy  hair,  and  murmured  with 
a  sigh,  "  No  wonder  it  is  growing  gray;  I  wonder  it  is 
not  snow-white,  since  for  ten  years  this  miserable  fate  has 
been  mine.  It  is  enough  to  destroy  the  very  marrow  in 
one's  bones,  and  dry  up  the  blood  in  the  veins." 

His  wife  stared  at  him  with  surprise.  "  Why,  Leu- 
thold,  think  what  good  dinners  I  have  always  cooked 
for  you  1" 

Leuthold  looked  up  as  if  awakening  from  a  dream,  and 
then,  with  the  ironical  expression  which  his  unsuspicious 
fellow-men  interpreted  as  pure  benevolence,  he  said, 
"You  are  right,  Bertha  I  Your  first  principle  is  'eat 
and  drink;'  mine  is  'think  and  work.'  That  yours  is 
much  the  more  practical  can  be  mathematically  proved !" 
He  glanced  with  a  smile  at  his  wife's  portly  figure. 

"Only  wait  until  we  are  settled  in  the  capital,  and  see 
what  I  will  do  for  you.  Then  you  shall  have  dinners 
indeed !"  said  Bertha. 

"  Your  skill  will  be  needed,  for  we  shall  have  plenty  of 
guests.  Men  are  like  dogs:  they  gather  where  there  is  a 
chance  of  a  good  dinner,  and  the  host  is  sure  of  many 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  19 

friends  devoted  to  him  through  their  palates.  'Tis  true, 
such  friends  last  only  as  long  as  the  fine  dinners  last;  we 
can  have  them  while  we  need  them,  and  throw  them  over- 
board, like  useless  ballast,  when  they  can  no  longer  serve 
our  turn." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right ;  what  a  knowing  fellow  you  are  !" 
cried  Bertha.  "  Heavens  I"  she  added,  clapping  her  hands 
with  childlike  naivete,  "  if  he  would  only  die  soon  1" 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  sternly.  "  I  trust  that  in 
case  of  the  event,  which  will  be  as  welcome  to  me.  as  to 
you,  no  human  eye  will  be  able  to  discern  anything  but 
grief  in  your  countenance.  Should  you  be  too  awkward 
to  simulate  sorrow,  I  must  invent  some  method  for 
making  you  really  feel  it ;  for  appearances  must  be  pre- 
served at  all  costs  !  Remember  that  I" 

Bertha  clasped  her  hands  in  dismay.  "  Mercy  on  me! 
I  really  believe  you  would  do  anything  to  torment  me 
into  seeming  sorry.  It  would  be  just  like  you;  for  what 
people  say  of  you, — or  'appearances,'  as  you  call  it,  are 
dearer  to  you  than  wife  or  child,  or  anything  else  in  the 
world." 

She  sprang  up,  and  her  breath  came  quick  and  angrily. 
Leuthold  contemplated  her  with  a  kind  of  satisfaction  as 
she  stood  before  him  with  flashing  eyes  and  curling  lip. 
She  displayed  some  emotion, — only  the  emotion  of  anger, 
'tis  true;  but  as  enthusiasm  is  always  passionate,  so  pas- 
sion will  sometimes  seem  enthusiasm,  and  lend  a  kind  of 
nimbus  to  insignificance. 

"  I  like  to  see  you  so  !"  said  Leuthold,  drawing  her 
down  beside  him  and  laying  his  cool  hand  upon  her 
shoulder. 

Just  then  the  cry  of  a  child  was  heard  in  the  ad- 
joining apartment.  "  Gretchen  is  awake,"  cried  Bertha, 
forgetting  her  anger,  and  leaving  the  room  so  quickly 
that  the  boards  creaked  beneath  her  heavy  tread,  and  the 
sofa  upon  which  her  husband  was  seated  shook.  She 
soon  returned,  with  a  pretty  child  of  three  years  of  age  in 
her  arms.  After  tossing  it,  notwithstanding  its  size  and 
strength,  up  and  down  like  an  india-rubber  ball,  she  threw 
it  with  maternal  pride  into  her  husband's  lap.  He  caressed 
the  little  thing  tenderly,  and  a  ray  shot  from  his  eyes  like 


20  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

the  gleam  of  a  wintry  sun  across  a  snowy  landscape. 
For,  though  there  was  no  genuine  paternal  love  in  his 
heart,  there  was  at  least  in  its  place, — what  is  hardly  to 
be  distinguished  from  it, — fatherly  pride. 

"How  strange  to  think,"  said  the  mother,  "that  that 
should  be  your  child  !" 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Leuthold  with  surprise. 

"  It  is  so  odd  that  such  a  slim,  delicate-looking  man  as 
you  are  should  have  such  a  healthy,  chubby  little  daugh- 
ter. Jt  is  just  as  if  a  wheat-stalk  should  bear  penny 
rolls  instead  of  wheat-ears."  She  laughed  immoderately 
at  the  idea,  without  perceiving  that  her  husband  was  far 
from  flattered  by  the  comparison.  "  They  say,"  she  con- 
tinued, " '  long  waited  for  is  good  at  last,'  and  we  waited 
long  for  the  little  thing,  and  she  is  good."  And  she  put  up 
the  child's  plump  little  hand  to  her  mouth  as  though  she 
would  bite  it.  The  little  girl  shouted  with  glee,  and  the 
sound  so  sweet  to  maternal  ears  did  not  fail  to  awaken 
a  return.  Bertha  shouted  too,  until  her  husband's  ears 
tingled.  "  If  Ernestine  had  only  been  a  boy,  she  could 
have  married  Gretchen,  and  our  child  would  have  been 
all  provided  for,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  Do  not  talk  such  nonsense,"  said  Leuthold.  "  Hart- 
wich  would  have  loved  a  sou  as  thoroughly  as  he  detests 
his  daughter,  and  would  have  bequeathed  to  him  all  his 
property.  We  owe  our  inheritance  there  to  the  happy 
chance  that  made  his  child  a  girl.  But  even  supposing 
that  she  were  a  boy,  with  the  inheritance  still  ours,  do 
you  think  I  would  mate  her  so  unworthily?  No!  our 
Gretcheu,  lovely  and  rich  as  she  will  be,  can  never  marry 
a  simple  Heir  von  Hartwich.  She  will  one  day  make 
me  father-in-law  to  some  great  statesman,  some  illustrious 
scholar,  or,  at  least,  to  some  count  I" 

"And  me  mother  to  a  countess  1"  cried  his  wife  with  glee. 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  21 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  UGLY  DUCKLING. 

IN  the  mean  time  Ernestine  had  pursued  her  way. 
She  walked  slowly  on  through  the  extensive  fields  in 
the  glare  of  the  four-o'clock  sun,  whose  rays  were  broken 
by  no  friendly  tree  or  shrub.  The  waist  of  the  dress 
which  she  had  outgrown  was  so  tight  that  she  was 
frequently  obliged  to  stand  still  and  recover  her  breath. 
The  perspiration  rolled  down  her  poor  worn  little  face. 
The  sunbeams  felt  like  dagger-points  upon  her  weary 
head ;  but  she  could  not  go  back:  fear  of  her  father  was 
more  powerful  than  the  torments  she  was  enduring. 
Better  to  be  pierced  by  the  sun's  rays  than  struck  by  her 
father's  hard  hand.  Still,  she  could  not  help  weeping 
bitterly  that  every  one  seemed  so  unkind  to  her.  What 
had  she  done,  that  her  father  should  hate  her  so?  It  was 
not  her  fault  that  she  was  so  ugly  and  not  a  boy.  "Ah, 
why  am  I  a  girl?"  she  sobbed,  and  sat  down  upon  the 
bard,  sun-baked  clods  of  earth  among  the  brown,  dried 
potato-plants.  She  clasped  her  knees  with  her  arms,  and 
pondered  why  boys  were  better  than  girls,  wondering 
whether  she  could  not  learn  to  do  all  that  boys  could. 
The  schoolmaster  had  often  told  her  that  she  had  more 
sense  and  learned  her  lessons  better  than  the  boys.  What 
was  it  that  she  needed,  then  ?  Strength,  boldness,  cour- 
age !  Yes,  that  was  a  good  deal,  to  be  sure  ;  but  could 
she  not  make  them  hers  in  time?  She  thought  and 
thought.  She  would  exercise  her  strength.  She  had 
once  read  of  a  man  who  carried  a  calf  about  in  his  arms 
daily,  and  was  so  accustomed  to  his  burden  that  he  never 
noticed  how  the  calf  increased  in  size  and  weight,  until 
at  last  he  bore  a  huge  ox  in  his  arms.  She  would  do  so 
too  ;  she  would  accustom  herself  at  first  to  the  weight  of 
little  burdens,  and  go  on  increasing  them  until  at  last  she 
could  carry  the  very  heaviest.  And  she  could  be  bold 
too,  if  she  only  dared,  and  if  her  shyness  would  only  wear 


22  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

off.  Then,  she  hoped,  her  father  would  be  quite  content 
with  her.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  comforted  and  walked  on. 
Her  mind  was  made  up.  She  would  be  just  like  a  boy. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Ernestine  reached  a  beautiful 
and  extensive  grove,  through  which  she  passed,  and  en- 
tered a  garden,  at  the  end  of  which  stood  a  charming 
country-house.  Upon  the  wide  lawn  in  front,  a  merry 
throng  of  children  were  running  and  leaping  hither  and 
thither,  and  from  the  fresh  green  a  sparkling  fountain 
tossed  into  the  air  a  crystal  ball.  At  the  open  doors  of 
a  room  leading  out  into  the  garden  sat  a  company  of 
elegantly -dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  servants 
in  rich  liveries  were  handing  around  refreshments  upon 
silver  salvers.  Ernestine  stood  as  if  dazzled  by  all  frhis 
pomp  and  splendour.  She  dared  not  approach.  How 
could  she?  To  whom  could  she  turn?  No  one  came 
towards  her  ;  no  one  spoke  to  her.  Her  embarrassment 
was  indescribable,  when  suddenly  the  beautiful,  gaily- 
dressed  children  on  the  lawn  broke  off  their  play  and 
looked  towards  her  with  astonishment.  Ernestine  saw 
how  the  little  girls  nudged  each  other  and  pointed  at  her. 
She  distinctly  heard  some  say  to  the  others,  "  What  does 
she  want?"  She  was  almost  on  the  point  of  turning 
round  to  run  away,  when  she  was  observed  by  the  group 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  a  servant  was  dispatched 
to  ask  whom  she  was  looking  for.  Everything  swam 
before  her  eyes  as  the  tall  man  with  such  a  distinguished 
air  stepped  up  to  her  and  asked  sharply,  "  What  do  you 
\vant  here  ?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  Ernestine;  "I  would  not  have 
come  if  I  had  known!" 

"Who  are  you,  then?"  asked  the  servant. 

"I  am  Ernestine  Hartwich." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  he  said,  with  a  slight  bow;  "that's 
another  affair;  you  are  invited.  Permit  me."  With 
these  words  he  conducted  the  passive  child  to  the  ladies, 
and  announced,  "  Friiulein  von  Hartwich  !" 

The  looks  that  were  now  fastened  upon  Ernestine 
were  more  piercing  and  burning,  she  thought,  than  the 
sun's  rays.  Those  people  never  dreamed  that  the  quiet 
little  creature  standing  before  them  was  possessed  of  a 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  23 

soul  so  delicate  in  its  organization,  so  finely  strung,  that 
every  breath  of  contempt  that  swept  across  it  created  a 
shrill  discord,  a  painful  confusion ;  they  only  looked  with 
the  careless  disapproval,  which  would  have  been  all  very 
well  with  ordinary  children,  at  the  straight,  black,  dishev- 
elled hair,  the  sunken  cheeks,  the  wizened,  sharp  features 
of  the  pale  face,  the  deep  dark  eyes,  with  their  shy,  un- 
certain glances,  the  lips  tightly  closed  in  embarrassment, 
and  last,  the  emaciated  figure  in  its  faded  short  dress,  and 
the  long,  narrow  feet  and  hands.  In  the  minds  of  most, 
an  ugly  exterior  excites  more  disgust  than  sympathy  ; 
and,  to  excuse  this  feeling  to  one's  self,  one  is  apt  to  de- 
clare that  the  child  or  person  in  question  has  an  "  un- 
pleasant expression,"  thus  hinting  at  moral  responsibility 
in  the  matter  of  the  exterior,  as  if  it  were  the  result  of 
an  ugliness  of  soul  which  would,  in  a  measure,  excuse 
one's  disgust.  This  was  the  case  with  all  who  were  now 
looking  at  this  strange  child.  It  seemed  as  though  they 
were  drinking  in  with  their  eyes  the  poison  that  had 
wasted  Ernestine's  little  body, — the  poison  of  hatred 
which  her  being  had  imbibed  from  her  father  and  her 
unnatural  surroundings,  and  as  if  this  poison  reacted  from 
them  upon  herself.  The  little  girl  felt  this  instinctively 
without  comprehending  it,  and  as  she  met,  one  after 
another,  those  loveless  glances,  it  was  as  though  a  wound 
in  her  flesh  were  ruthlessly  probed.  She  could  not  under- 
stand what  the  ladies  whispered  to  each  other  in  French, 
but  their  tones  intimated  displeasure  and  contempt.  She 
suddenly  saw  herself  as  in  a  mirror  through  their  eyes, 
and  she  saw,  what  she  had  never  seen  before,  that  she 
was  very  ugly  and  awkward, — that  she  was  meanly 
dressed  ;  and  shame  for  her  poor  innocent  self  flushed  her 
cheeks  crimson.  In  that  single  minute  she  ate  of  the  fruit 
of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil, — that  fruit 
which  has  driven  thousands,  sooner  or  later,  from  the 
Eden  of  childlike  unconsciousness.  She  had  entered  upon 
that  stage  of  life  where  a  human  being  is  self-accused 
for  being  unloved,  unsought, — despises  herself  because 
others  despise  her, — finds  herself  ugly  because  she  gives 
pleasure  to  none.  Hitherto,  whatever  she  had  suffered, 
she  had  been  at  peace  with  herself;  now  she  was  at 


24  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

enmity  with  herself  and  the  world.  She  felt  suffocated ; 
everything  swam  before  her  sight,  and  hot  tears  gushed 
from  her  eyes.  Just  then  a  tall,  stately  woman  cauie  out 
of  the  drawing-room.  "  Frau  Staatsrathin,"  one  of  the 
ladies  called  to  her  in  a  tone  of  contempt,  "  a  new  guest 
has  arrived  I" 

"  Is  that  little  Ernestine  Hartwich  ?"  asked  the  hostess, 
evidently  endeavouring  to  conceal  behind  a  kindly  tone 
and  manner  her  amazement  at  the  child's  appearance. 
She  held  out  her  hand  :  "  Good  day,  my  child  ;  I  am  glad 
you  have  come.  Will  you  not  take  some  refreshment? 
You  seem  heated.  You  have  not  walked  all  the  way  ? 
Yes  ?  Oh,  that  is  too  much  in  such  hot  weather!  Such 
a  delicate  child  !"  she  said  with  a  look  of  sympathy. 
She  sprinkled  sugar  over  some  strawberries  and  placed 
Ernestine  on  a  seat  where  she  could  eat  them,  but  the 
rest  all' stared  at  her  so  she  could  not  move  a  finger  ;  she 
could  scarcely  hold  the  plate.  How  could  she  eat  while 
all  these  people  were  looking  on  ?  She  trembled  so  that 
she  could  not  carry  the  spoon  to  her  lips. 

She  choked  down  the  rising  tears  as  well  as  she  could, 
for  she  was  ashamed  to  cry,  and  said  softly,  "  I  would 
like  to  go  home  !" 

"  To  go  home  ?"  cried  the  Staatsrathin.  "  Oh,  no,  my 
child  ;  you  have  had  no  time  to  rest,  and  you  are  so  tired  ! 
Come,  my  dear  little  girl,  I  will  take  you  to  a  cool  room, 
wrhere  you  can  take  a  little  nap  before  you  play  with  the 
other  children."  She  took  Ernestine  by  the  hand  and  led 
her  into  the  house  and  through  several  elegant  rooms  to 
a  smaller  apartment,  with  half-closed  shutters  and  green 
damask  furniture  and  hangings,  where  it  was  as  quiet, 
fresh,  and  cool  as  in  a  grove.  The  air  was  fragrant,  too  ; 
for  there  was  a  basket  of  magnificent  roses  upon  the  table. 

Ernestine  was  speechless  with  admiration  at  all  the 
beauty  around  her  here.  She  had  never  seen  such  a 
beautiful  room  in  her  life,  never  breathed  within-doors 
so  pure  an  atmosphere.  The  Staatsrathin  told  her  to  lie 
down  upon  a  green  damask  couch,  which  she  hesitated 
to  do,  until  at  last  she  took  off  her  dusty  boots,  heedless 
that  she  thereby  exposed  stockings  full  of  holes,  and 
when  the  Staatsrathin,  with  a  kindly  "  Take  a  good  nap, 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  25 

my  child,"  left  her,  and  she  was  alone,  a  flood  of  novel 
sensations  overpowered  her.  The  pain  of  the  last  few  mo- 
ments, gratitude  for  the  kindness  of  the  Staatsrathin, 
the  enchantment  that  wealth  and  splendour  cast  around, 
every  childish  imagination, — all  combined  to  confuse  her 
thoughts.  But  the  solitude  of  the  cool  room  soon  had  a 
soothing  effect  upon  her.  The  green  twilight  was  good 
for  her  eyes,  \veary  with  weeping  and  the  glare  of  the 
sun  ;  she  felt  so  far  away  from  those  mocking,  prying 
glances  ;  everything  was  so  calm  and  quiet  here  that  she 
seemed  to  hear  the  flowing  of  her  own  blood  through  her 
veins.  She  thought  of  the  ironing-room  and  her  father's 
gloomy  chamber  at  home.  What  a  difference  there  was  ! 
Oh,  if  she  could  only  stay  here  forever!  How  can  peo- 
ple ever  be  unkind  who  have  such  a  lovely  home !  How 
can  they  laugh  at  a  poor  child  who  has  nothing  of  all  this  ! 

But  the  Frau  Staatsrathin,  whose  room  this  was, 
was  kind.  Ah,  how  kind  !  Yet  so  different  from  every 
one  at  home — so — what  ?  So  distinguished  !  Yes,  every 
one  at  home  seemed  common  compared  with  her,  and 
Ernestine  herself  was  common,  although  the  lady  had 
not  treated  her  as  if  she  were  ;  she  felt  it  herself,  and  was 
ashamed.  What  if  the  lady  could  have  seen  how  naughty 
she  had  been  to-day,  how  she  had  torn  off  her  dress  and 
stamped  upon  it,  and  scolded  Frau  Gedike  ? 

She  blushed  at  these  thoughts,  and  resolved  never 
again  to  conduct  herself  so  that  she  should  be  ashamed  to 
have  the  Frau  Staatsrathin  see  her.  A  new  sense  was 
suddenly  awakened  in  the  child  ;  but  it  fluttered  hither 
and  thither  like  a  timid  bird,  terrified  by  her  late  sur- 
roundings, and  not  j'et  accustomed  to  all  that  was  so 
novel  about  her. 

The  child  never  dreamed  of  the  innate  refinement 
that  distinguished  her  from  thousands  of  ordinary  chil- 
dren ;  she  was  only  crushed  as  she  compared  herself  with 
the  gentle  lady  and  the  gaily-dressed  children  upon  the 
lawn  ;  and  this  ven*  feeling  of  shame,  this  disgust  at  her- 
self, was  a  proof  how  foreign  to  her  youthful  mind  was 
the  absence  of  beauty  in  her  exterior.  In  the  midst  of 
all  these  new,  confusing  thoughts,  sleep  overpowered  her; 
she  stretched  herself  out  comfortably  upon  the  soft  couch. 

3 


26  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

The  beating  of  her  heart,  the  painful  pressure  upon  her 
brain,  and  the  singing  in  her  ears,  grew  fainter  and  weaker, 
and  soothed  her  to  slumber  like  a  cradle-song. 

On  the  lawn,  in  the  mean  time,  nothing  was  talked  of 
but  the  child  and  her  family.  It  was  thought  incon- 
ceivable that  a  Freiherr  von  Hartwich  should  allow  his 
daughter  to  be  so  neglected.  But  then  he  had  never 
been  a  genuine  aristocrat ;  for  his  mother  was  of  low  ex- 
traction, as  was  proved  by  her  return  to  her  own  rank 
of  life  after  the  death  of  her  husband  Von  Hartwich.  She 
soon  after  married  the  widower  Gleissert,  thus  giving  her 
son  a  master-manufacturer  for  a  father,  then  purchased 
her  husband's  heavily  encumbered  factory,  which  she  had 
bequeathed  to  her  son  with  the  condition  that  he  should 
continue  to  keep  it  up, — a  condition  most  distasteful  to  the 
heir.  Gleissert  had  a  son  by  his  first  marriage,  named 
Leuthokl,  who  had  studied,  but  had  not  been  much  of  a 
credit  to  his  brother,  with  whom  he  was  living  at 
present. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  an 
elderly  gentleman,  who  drove  up  in  a  very  elegant  but 
very  dusty  carriage.  The  number  of  orders  upon  his 
breast  testified  to  his  high  position,  and  the  haste  with 
which  the  hostess  went  forward  to  receive  him,  and  the 
trembling  of  the  hand  which  she  extended  towards  him, 
showed  of  what  importance  his  arrival  was  to  her. 

"  Vivat!"  he  cried  out  to  her.  "Your  Johannes  takes 
the  first  rank — a  splendid  examination — there  has  not 
been  such  another  for  ten  years!" 

"Thank  God!"  said  the  Staatsrilthin,  with  a  long  sigh 
of  relief. 

"Yes,  yes!"  the  kindly  voice  continued.  "A  superb 
fellow  !  I  congratulate  you  upon  such  a  son — not  a 
question  missed — not  one !  And  answered  with  such 
ease  and  confidence,  yet  without  the  slightest  particle  of 
conceit.  Deuce  take  it ! — I  wish  I  had  married  and  had 
such  a  son.  Come,"  he  said,  turning  to  a  boy  of  about 
fourteen  years  of  age,  who  had  arrived  with  him,  "  per- 
haps you  may  one  day  be  such  another, — keep  your  eyes 
steadily  upon  Johannes.  Permit  me.  dear  madam,  to 
present  to  you  the  son  of  my  late  friend,  Ferdinand  HiLs- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    TUB  SOUL.  27 

born.  He  lost  his  mother  a  few  months  ago,  and  is  now 
my  adopted  son." 

The  Staatsrathin  held  out  her  hand  to  the  boy,  and 
said  with  emotion,  "  Although  I  never  knew  your  mother, 
it  pains  me  deeply  to  know  that  she  left  this  world  before 
she  could  enjoy  such  a  moment  as  your  adopted  father  has 
just  given  me  by  his  tidings." 

The  gentle  boy's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  spoke. 

"  Only  think,  my  dear  friends,"  said  the  Staatsrathin, 
turning  to  the  company,  "Johannes  never  told  me  that 
this  was  his  examination-day,  that  he  might  surprise  me. 
I  only  learned  it  this  afternoon  from  a  few  thoughtless 
words  of  my  brother's.  Our  kind  Geheimrath  Heim  has 
just  brought  me  the  tidings  of  his  promotion." 

The  guests,  with  sympathy  and  congratulations, 
crowded  around  the  proud  mother,  whose  heart  was  too 
full  to  do  anything  but  reply  mechanically  to  their  kind 
speeches. 

"  But,  dear  Frau  Mollner,"  a  Frau  Landriithin  remarked 
maliciously,  "was  it  not  a  little  strange  that  your  Jo- 
hannes should  not  have  told  you  of  his  examination-day  ? 
— certainly  a  mother  has  a  sacred  right  to  share  such 
hours  with  her  son." 

"  When  a  mother's  claims  are  held  as  sacred  as  are 
mine  by  my  son,"  replied  the  Staatsrathin,  with  dignified 
composure,  "  he  may  well  be  left  to  do  as  seems  to  him 
best  in  such  a  matter.  He  wished  to  spare  me  hours  of 
anxiety  ;  and  I  thank  him." 

"  The  woman  is  blindly  devoted  to  her  son, "the  Land- 
rathin  whispered  to  a  friend. 

"  She  is  growing  perfectly  childish  with  maternal 
vanity,"  remarked  another. 

"  But  how  can  any  one  as  wealthy  as  the  Staatsrathin 
allow  her  son  to  study?"  said  the  Landrathin. 

"Yes,  yes!"  several  others  joined  in,  "he  certainly 
need  never  earn  his  living  in  such  a  way.  Why  did  she 
not  buy  him  a  commission  ?  'Tis  too  bad  for  such  a  hand- 
some young  man  !" 

"Yes,  yes!"  the  old  Geheimrath  called  out  to  the 
ladies,  as  if  he  had  heard  only  their  last  words,  "  Johan- 
nes is  a  man, — a  man,  although  hardly  twenty  years  old  ! 


28  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Only  such  a  mother  could  have  such  a  son  !"  And  he 
laid  his  hand  kindly  upon  the  Staatsriithin's  arm. 

"  I  wish  every  woman,  left  alone  in  the  world,  had 
such  a  friend  as  you  are,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand 
to  him  gratefully.  "  You  are  the  best  legac\r  left  me  by 
my  dear  husband.  But  where  is  Johannes  ?  Why  did 
he  not  come  with  you?" 

"He  sent  me  before  to  announce  his  arrival  in  the 
evening,"  replied  the  old  gentleman.  "  He  was  obliged 
to  make  a  few  visits  this  afternoon.  Ah,"  he  sighed,  as 
the  Staatsrathin  handed  him  some  refreshments,  "  it  is  a 
hot  journey  hither  from  town, — and  a  tedious  one  too, — 
but  it  is  all  the  cooler  and  more  delightful  when  you  get 
here."  He  wiped  his  forehead  and  looked  around  the 
circle  with  the  kindly,  penetrating  glance  of  a  man  who 
sees  through  the  weaknesses  of  his  fellow-men,  but  judges 
them  with  the  gentleness  of  a  superior  nature.  "  Well, 
ladies,"  he  asked  good-humouredly,  "did  the  old  doctor 
interrupt  a  most  interesting  conversation?  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  sitting  here  so  silent  and  serious  is  your  normal 
condition.  What  were  you  talking  of  when  I  arrived  ?" 

"  Of  nothing  very  pleasant,  Herr  Geheimrath,"  said 
the  Landrathin  venomously;  "we  were  only  speaking 
of  Herr  von  Hartwich  and  of  his  brother,  who  went 
wrong  some  years  ago, — we  don't  know  exactly  how." 

"I  can  tell  you  all  about  it,  ladies,"  said  the  Geheimrath. 

All  instantly  entreated  him,  "  Oh,  tell  us  ;  pray  tell  us !" 

The  Geheimrath  began  :  "  I  was  professor  of  medicine 
at  Marburg  when  that  strange  occurrence  took  place.  It 
was  about  ten  years  ago.  Gleissert  was  then  Extraordi- 
nariusin  the  university,  and  a  young  man  of  groat  ability. 
By  his  diligence  and  insinuating  manners,  he  had  won  lor 
himself  the  good-will  of  every  one;  and  one  of  my  col- 
leagues, Hilsborn,  the  father  of  the  boy  whom  I  brought 
with  me  to-day,  was  his  intimate  friend.  Their  special-He 
was  the  same,  and  Hilsboru  filled  the  professorial  chair 
which  was  the  object  of  Gleissert's  desire.  Both  were 
physiologists,  but  Hilsborn  had  the  chair  of  special  phys- 
iology, and  Gleissert,  as  Extraordinarius,  was  occupied 
only  with  physiological  chemistry.  One  day  Hilsboru 
confided  to  me  that  he  was  upon  the  track  of  a  new  dis- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN'  FOR   THE  SOUL.  29 

covery.  It  would  be  of  great  importance  to  science  if 
he  could  only  succeed  in  carrying  it  out  and  establishing 
it  upon  a  firm  foundation.  The  difficulty  in  doing  so  lay 
principally  in  the  procuring  of  the  necessary  material  for 
his  experiments, — a  species  of  fish  found  only  at  Trieste, 
and  which  he  could  not  procure  alive.  Hilsborn,  a  poor 
widow's  son,  lamented  his  want  of  means  to  travel  thither 
and  prove  his  hypothesis.  I  promised  to  obtain  for  him 
from  my  friend  the  minister,  by  the  next  vacation,  a 
sufficient  sum  to  meet  his  expenses,  and  I  did  so;  but 
there  was  the  same  delay  in  the  matter  that  is  usual  in 
such  cases,  and  the  necessary  sum  came  so  late  that  the 
journey  had  to  be  postponed  until  the  following  vacation, 
Hilsborn  comforting  himself  with  the  thought  that,  al- 
though he  must  wait  another  six  months,  nothing  but 
time  would  be  lost.  Suddenly  Herr  Gleissert  married 
the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  innkeeper,  and  begged  for 
leave  of  absence  for  his  \vedding-trip.  It  was  granted, 
and  he  was  absent  for  four  weeks.  Strangely  enough, 
his  friend  never  heard  from  him  during  ail  that  time ; 
and,  when  he  returned,  we  all  noticed  that  he  was  un- 
willing to  let  us  know  where  he  had  been.  We  thought 
he  had  private  grounds  for  such  unwillingness,  and  did 
not  question  him  further.  The  term  was  over  at  last, 
and  Hilsborn  set  off  for  Trieste.  There  he  worked  night 
and  day  with  superhuman  diligence.  The  result  of  his 
investigations  was  perfectly  satisfactory,  and  he  came 
back  with  the  materials  for  a  work  which  was  sure  to 
establish  his  fame  and  fortune.  One  day — I  shall  never 
forget  it — he  was  in  my  room  when  the  publisher  sent 
me  several  new  scientific  papers.  Hilsborn  was  look- 
ing through  them  carelessly,  when  suddenly  he  grew 
ashy  pale.  Among  the  pamphlets  was  one  by  Gleissert, 
embodying  Hilsborn's  idea.  I  was  as  shocked  and  as- 
tounded as  he  was.  It  could  not  be  chance  which  led 
two  men  at  the  same  time  to  so  novel  an  idea,  especially 
as  Gleissert's  course  of  study  could  not  have  directed 
him  to  such  investigations  as  Hilsborn's.  After  a  long 
and  evident  struggle  with  himself,  Hilsborn  confessed 
to  me  that  he  had  communicated  his  ideas  to  Gleissert, 
and  had  frequently  from,  the  beginning  discussed  the  mat- 

3* 


30  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

ter  thoroughly  with  him,  without  Gleissert's  ever  hinting 
even  that  the  subject  had  occurred  to  him  before.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  at  work  upon  a  paper  upon  a  chemical 
subject,  a  paper  which  had  never  appeared.  Difficult  as  it 
was  for  my  high-minded  friend  to  bring  himself  to  it,  the 
conviction  was  unavoidable  that  his  friend  had  basely 
deceived  him  ;  for  we  discovered,  upon  close  inquiry,  that 
Gleissert's  wedding-trip  had  been  to  Trieste,  where  he 
had  pursued  the  investigations  proposed  by  Hilsborn,  and 
hurried  on  the  printing  of  their  results  with  the  greatest 
haste.  All  outside  proof  of  his  contemptible  treachery 
was  perfect,  and  we  were  all  morally  convinced  that  he 
had  stolen  Hilsborn's  idea.  As  pro-rector,  I  called  him 
to  a  strict  account.  His  defence  was  cunning,  but  not 
convincing.  He  did  not  attempt  to  deny  the  principal 
accusation  brought  forward,  namely,  the  suspicious  fact 
that  he  had  induced  Hilsborn  to  promise  him  not  to  im- 
part his  discovery  to  any  one  else,  '  lest  it  should  be  used 
to  his  disadvantage.'  lie  wished  to  be  the  sole  deposi- 
tary of  the  secret,  that  there  might  be  no  witnesses  to 
Hilsborn's  proprietorship  of  the  stolen  idea.  I  ask  this 
worthy  assemblage,"  the  old  gentleman  here  interrupted 
himself  with  indignation,  "if  there  can  be  any  doubt  of 
the  baseness  of  the  man  in  the  matter  ?" 

"  No,  most  certainly  not,  Herr  Geheinirath,  most  cer- 
tainly not,"  was  the  unanimous  reply. 

"Well,"  the  narrator  continued,  "  so  we  thought.  We, 
one  and  all,  determined  to  avenge  poor  Hilsborn,  thus 
deprived  of  all  his  fair  hopes.  It  is  true  we  had  no  legal 
weapon  at  our  disposal.  Our  stupid  laws  punish  forgers 
fand  counterfeiters,  but  they  cannot  recognize  the  theft  of 
the  coinage  of  the  brain.  There  are  jails  fur  the  hungry^ 
beggar  who  steals  a  loaf ;  but  the  rogue  who  robs  a  man  of] 
his  thought,  the  painfully-begotten  fruit  of  his  mind  after 
years  of  labour,  goes  free.  \We  professors  undertook  to  do 
what  the  law  does  not.  We  published  the  matter  far  and 
wide  in  the  scientific  periodicals,  and  all  handed  in  our 
resignations  to  the  government,  stating  that  we  held  it 
inconsistent  with  our  honour  to  remain  the  colleagues  of 
such  a  man.  Of  course  Gleissert  was  instantly  dismissed 
in  disgrace,  and  an  academic  career  closed  to  him  forever. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    TILE  SOUL.  31 

I  was  called  away  from  Marburg  soon  after ;  and,  since 
I  have  lived  in  the  capital  as  royal  physician,  I  have  lost 
sight  of  my  former  colleagues.  Hilsborn  died  after  some 
years,  and  his  son  is  now  my  adopted  child.  What 
became  of  Gleissert  I  do  not  know." 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  said  a  fine-looking  man,  whose  re- 
semblance to  the  Staatsrathin  declared  him  her  brother. 
"  I  have  informed  myself  about  matters  here,  because  I 
propose  to  purchase  Hartwich's  factories  for  my  son. 
According  to  the  schoolmaster,  the  fellow  is  playing  a 
double  part  here  also.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  under 
his  guidance,  and  owing  to  his  chemical  discoveries,  the 
factories  have  doubled  in  value  since  his  arrival,  for 
Hartwich  is  a  very  narrow-minded  man,  incapable,  from 
his  wretched  avarice,  of  venturing  upon  any  important 
speculation  ;  but  the  way  in  which  his  brother  contrives 
to  be  paid  for  his  services  is,  to  say  the  least,  striking. 
For  five  years  he  contented  himself  with  the  salary  of  an 
overseer  and  free  lodging — he  bided  his  time.  It  came 
at  last.  One  day  Herr  von  Hartwich  had  a  paralytic 
stroke,  and  the  physicians  declared  that  he  had  but  few 
years  to  live.  Gleissert  made  use  of  this  time  of  help- 
lessness, and  threatened  to  leave  the  factory  immediately 
and  dispose  of  his  discoveries  elsewhere  if  Hartwich  did 
not  appoint  him  his  heir.  Hartwich,  who  of  course  stood 
more  in  need  of  him  than  ever,  accepted  his  conditions, 
set  aside  that  poor  little  girl  as  far  as  the  law  would 
allow  it,  and  made  a  will  in  Gleissert's  favour." 

"He's  a  thorough  scoundrel,  that  Gleissert, — a  legacy- 
hunter,  then,  besides.  I  should  like  to  know  what  the 
fellow  holds  sacred  ?" 

"  Let  us  ask  the  child  about  him,"  cried  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  joined  in  several  others.  "  It  would  be 
so  interesting.  Pray,  dear  Staatsrathin,  bring  the  little 
girl  here." 

The  Staatsrathin  looked  at  her  watch,  and,  finding  that 
Ernestine  had  slept  nearly  an  hour,  went  to  fetch  her. 
She  soon  returned  with  her,  and  again  the  child  had  to 
run  the  gauntlet  of  those  piercing  glances.  But  her  rest 
had  refreshed  her,  and  she  was  not  so  timid. 

She  heard  the  old  Geheimrath  whisper  to  his  next  neigh- 


32  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

bour,  "  How  did  that  stupid  Hartwich  ever  come  to  have 
such  a  clever  child?  Look — what  a  remarkable  head. 
Pity  the  little  thing  is  not  a  boy  !  something  might  be 
made  of  her  !" 

His  words  struck  to  her  very  soul.  Again  she  heard 
the  same  phrase, — this  time  from  a  perfect  stranger,  "  Pity 
she's  not  a  boy  !" 

She  straightened  herself,  as  though  she  had  suddenly 
grown  an  inch  taller,  and  looked  up  at  the  thoughtless 
speaker  as  if  to  say,  "  Something  shall  be  made  of  me  !" 
Then  she  glanced  wistfully  at  the  children  who  were 
playing  ball ;  if  she  were  only  among  them  now,  she 
would  show  that  she  could  be  like  a  boy.  The  Land- 
rathin  took  her  hand  and  said,  "  Well,  my  dear  child,  tell 
us  something  of  your  father.  How  is  he  now  ?" 

Ernestine  seemed  surprised  at  the  question. — "  I  did  not 
ask  him." 

The  ladies  looked  significantly  at  each  other. 

"  Have  you  not  seen  him  to-day  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  briefly. 

"  Do  you  not  love  your  father  very  dearly  ?"  the  Land- 
rathin  asked  further. 

Ernestine  paused,  and  then  said  quietly  and  firmly, 
"No!" 

Her  interrogator  dropped  the  child's  hand  as  if  stung 
by  an  insect.  "  An  affectionate  daughter  1"  she  sneered, 
while  the  rest  shook  their  heads.  "  Whom  do  you  love, 
then  ? — your  uncle  ?" 

"  I  love  no  one  at  home  ;  but  I  like  my  uncle  better  than 
my  father — he  never  strikes  me  !"  Ernestine  answered. 

"  Like  likes  like,  as  it  seems,"  one  of  the  ladies  ob- 
served ;  the  rest  nodded  assent,  and  all  turned  away  from 
Ernestine. 

"  She  is  an  unfortunate  child,"  said  the  Staatsr&thin ; 
and  arose  to  lead  her  to  the  children.  "Angelika,  here 
is  Ernestine  von  Hartwich,"  she  cried  to  her  own  little 
daughter,  who  was  about  nine  years  old ;  "  take  good 
care  of  her, — remember  you  are  hostess  !" 

The  children,  towards  whom  the  Staatsriithin  led  her 
protege,  scattered  like  a  flock  of  birds  at  the  approach  of 
a  paper  kite.  Collecting  then  in  single  groups,  they 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  33 

whispered  together,  and  stared  at  the  stranger.  Ernes- 
tine found  herself  alone,  avoided  by  all  the  gay  crowd 
which  she  had  just  so  fervently  admired.  She  played 
the  part  of  a  scarecrow,  but  with  the  melancholy  supe- 
riority that  she  was  conscious  that  she  was  one.  She 
knew  that  she  had  scattered  the  gay  circle,  that  she  had 
chased  away  the  children,  that  they  all  avoided  her ;  and 
again  she  felt  as  if  she  should  sink  into  the  ground,  her 
feeble  limbs  trembled  beneath  the  burden  of  derision  and 
contempt  that  she  was  forced  to  bear.  The  Staatsrathin 
cast  a  stern  glance — which  Ernestine  noticed — at  little  An- 
gelika,  and  said,  "Give  your  hand  to  your  new  friend!" 

Two  of  the  larger  girls  giggled,  and  Ernestine  heard 
them  whisper,  "A;  lovely  friend  1" 

Angelika  now  approached  Ernestine,  and  held  out  her 
soft  little  hand,  but  instantly  withdrew  it,  stood  mute  be- 
fore her  for  a  moment,  looking  at  the  old  brown  straw  hat 
that  Ernestine  held  in  her  hand,  then  ventured  one  look 
into  her  eyes,  and  nestled  confused  and  shy  against  her 
mother,  who  spoke  seriously  but  kindly  to  the  pretty 
child.  She  spoke  in  French,  and  Angelika  answered  in 
the  same  language.  Ernestine  was  amazed.  The  little 
girl  understood  a  strange  tongue,  and  yet  she  was  smaller 
than  herself!  She,  who  wanted  to  be  as  clever  as  a  boy, 
did  not  even  know  as  much  as  the  little  girl.  And  she 
had  to  endure  their  speaking  before  her  as  if  she  were 
not  present;  there  she  stupidly  stood,  well  knowing  that 
they  were  saying  nothing  good  of  her  or  they  would 
have  said  it  in  German.  She  was  weighed  down  by  a 
double  disgrace,  that  of  her  ignorance,  and  of  knowing  that 
they  were  speaking  of  her  as  if  she  were  not  there. 

"  Frau  Staatsrathin,"  she  said  in  a  quivering  voice, 
"  I  will  not  stay  here ;  the  children  do  not  like  me  ;  I  am 
too  bad  for  them !"  She  turned  away,  and  would  really 
have  gone,  but  little  Angelika's  good  heart  conquered. 

She  ran  after  her  and  held  her  fast :  "  No,  no,  dear  Ernes- 
tine ;  you  are  not  too  bad  for  us ;  you  are  only  odd — dif- 
ferent from  the  rest  of  us.  Come,  we  will  play  with  you !" 

Then  the  Staatsrathin  took  Angelika  in  her  arms,  and 
kissed  her,  saying,  "  That's  right ;  now  you  are  my  little 
Angelika  again,  my  good  sweet  child." 


34  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Ernestine  looked  on  at  this  caress  with  amazement, 
and  hot  tears  rose  to  her  eyes.  No  one  had  ever  been 
so  kind  to  her.  What  happiness  it  must  be  to  be  so  eni- 
bracod  and  kissed !  But  it  could  never  happen  to  her. 
Why  not?  Why  did  no  one  love  her?  Angelika,  too, 
was  only  a  girl :  why  was  she  not  blamed  for  it  ?  But 
she  was  so  lovely,  so  beautiful ;  who  could  help  loving 
her  ?  Then  her  heart  gave  a  throb  as  though  it  had  been 
stabbed  with  a  knife.  "So  beautiful,"  she  repeated: 
"that  is  why  every  one  pets  and  fondles  her.  It  is  not 
only  that  I  am  a  girl ;  I  am  an  ugly  girl, — that  is  why 
no  one  loves  me." 

"  Come,"  said  Angelika.  "  Why  do  you  look  so  ?  Come 
to  the  others."  She  led  her  to  the  fountain,  around 
which  the  little  company  had  gathered  meanwhile.  The 
children  were  amusing  themselves  with  throwing  stones 
at  the  ball  of  glass  which  the  water  tossed  up  and  down. 
No  girl  or  boy  could  hit  it;  the  ball  could  only  be  struck 
while  it  was  dancing  on  the  top  of  the  spray,  and  always 
fell  before  it  was  reached.  The  children  laughed  merrily 
at  each  other,  and  even  the  parents  and  grown  people 
were  interested  and  drew  near.  Ernestine  looked  on 
after  her  usual  brooding  fashion.  She  soon  divined  where 
the  mistake  lay.  The  stone  was  longer  in  reaching  its 
aim  than  the  ball  lingered  in  the  air.  She  quickly 
concluded  that  if  a  stone  were  aimed  at  the  top  of  the 
fountain  while  the  ball  was  still  below,  the  latter  in  as- 
cending would  strike  the  stone.  Hilsborn,  the  boy  fourteen 
years  old,  had  just  declared  that  he  could  not  understand 
why  they  could  not  strike  it.  Ambition  took  possession 
of  her. — if  she  was  ugly,  she  would  show  them  that  she 
was  clever, — if  she  was  only  a  girl,  she  would  show  them 
that  she  had  force  and  skill.  Involuntarily  she  looked 
across  to  fhe  old  Geheimrath,  to  ascertain  if  he  saw  her, 
and,  as  this  seemed  to  be  the  case,  she  stooped  down  and 
hastily  picked  up  a  larger  stone  than  the  others,  to  insure 
success, — took  the  attitude  which  she  had  often  observed 
in  the  village  boys,  and,  with  her  feet  planted  firmly  wide 
apart,  swung  her  arm  round  three  times  to  take  sure  aim, 
and  hurled  the  stone  with  all  her  force  towards  the  point 
in  the  air  which  the  fountain  reached  in  its  leaping.  Fate 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  35 

was  cruel  enough  to  favour  her ;  the  stone  met  the  as- 
cending ball,  and  so  exactly  that  the  latter  was  hurled 
out  of  the  column  of  water,  and,  flying  over  the  heads  of 
the  nearest  by-standers,  fell  upon  the  head  of  a  child,  and 
the  thin  glass  was  shivered  in  pieces.  The  child  screamed, 
more  from  fright  than  pain, — a  commotion  ensued, — the 
mother  of  the  sufferer  rushed  towards  her  darling  with 
frantic  gestures, — the  "wound"  was  examined,  embroi- 
dered handkerchiefs  were  dipped  in  the  basin  of  the  foun- 
tain and  bound  around  the  head,  while  like  a  dark  cloud 
there  hovered  over  the  s\'mpathetic  crowd  a  fear  lest 
"  some  fragment  of  glass  should  have  penetrated  the 
skull."  Ernestine  stood  there  like  a  culprit;  she  felt 
convicted  of  murder,  and  when  she  heard  from  all  sides, 
''What  unfeminine  conduct!  How  savage  and  rude! 
How  can  they  bring  up  the  girl  to  be  such  a  torn-boy  ?" 
she  was  utterly  confounded.  She  had  been  like  a  boy, 
and  it  was  all  wrong, — what  should  she  do  to  please 
people  and  make  them  like  her  a  little  ?  Then  the  old 
Geheimrath  approached  her  and  unclasped  the  hands 
which  she  was  silently  but  convulsively  wringing.  "Be 
comforted,  you  pale  little  girl, — there  is  no  great  harm 
done.  In  future  you  must  leave  such  exploits  to  boys." 
Then  he  left  her  and  examined  the  wound,  and  declared 
laughingly  that  he  needed  a  microscope  to  see  it.  The 
mothers  of  the  party,  however,  showed  all  the  more 
sympathy  and  anxiety  in  the  matter  that  they  wore  cha- 
grined that  Ernestine  had  displayed  more  skill  than  their 
own  children. 

Ernestine's  delicate  instinct  surmised  all  this.  She 
looked  at  the  buzzing  throng  of  her  enemies  with  aver- 
sion, as  at  a  swarm  of  wasps  that  she  had  disturbed. 
She  listened  to  the  noise  that  was  made  about  the  slight 
accident  with  infinite  bitterness,  and  thought  how  at 
home,  when  her  father's  blows  had  bruised  her,  no  one 
cared  anything  about  it.  When  a  few  days  before  she 
had  fallen  and  cut  her  forehead,  she  had  had  to  wash 
it  herself  at  the  brook.  And  even  the  old  gentleman 
had  said  that  she  should  leave  such  exploits  to  boys. 
Then  must  she  not  contend  even  with  boys  if  she  could  ? 
AVhy  nut  ?  Why  were  they  so  superior?  It  was  unjust ! 


36  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

She  clenched  her  little  fists.  When  she  grew  up  she 
would  show  people  how  great  the  injustice  was  !  That 
she  was  resolved  upon. 

Then  little  Angelika  came  running  up,  calling  the 
children  together  for  a  game.  "  Come,  Ernestine,"  she 
cried.  "  You  did  not  mean  to  do  it, — come,  play  blind- 
man's  buff  with  us." 

Ernestine  did  not  venture  to  make  any  objection  ;  she 
was  so  cowed  that  she  did  just  as  they  told  her,  and  let 
them  make  her  "blind  man,"  and  tie  the  handkerchief 
over  her  eyes.  She  never  complained,  although  when 
they  were  tying  on  the  bandage  they  pulled  her  hair  so 
that  she  ground  her  teeth  with  pain.  And  then  they  all 
began  to  tease  her.  One  pulled  at  one  of  her  long  locks ; 
another  terrified  her  by  putting  beetles  and  caterpillars 
upon  her  neck, — the  usual  tricks  of  the  game,  that  are 
easily  borne  when  they  are  understood  among  little 
friends,  but  enough  to  drive  a  shy  child,  that  does  not 
know  how  to  defend  herself,  to  despair.  No  one  would  be 
caught  by  the  ugly  stranger,  who  had  only  been  admitted 
to  the  game  at  the  express  desire  of  the  hostess,  and  all 
felt  themselves  justified  in  playing  all  manner  of  tricks 
upon  her.  Ernestine  caught  no  one,  and  ran  hither  and 
thither  in  vain.  She  was*  too  conscientious  to  raise  the 
handkerchief  a  little  that  she  might  see  where  she  was, — 
that  would  have  been  acting  a  falsehood,  and  she  never 
told  falsehoods.  Suddenly  a  hand  seized  her  straw  hat, 
and  the  worn  old  brim  gave  way,  and  fell  upon  her 
shoulders  like  a  collar,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  rest.  It 
was  a  terrible  loss  for  the  poor  child  ;  for  she  knew  that 
she  should  get  no  other  hat  at  home,  but  would  be  pun- 
ished for  her  carelessness.  She  grasped  after  her  tor- 
mentor, and  seized  her  by  the  skirt ;  but  she  was  one  of 
the  larger 'girls,  and  tore  herself  away,  leaving  a  piece  of 
her  elegant  summer  dress  in  Ernestine's  hands,  which 
had  clutched  it  tightly.  She  could  not  see  how  the  girl 
ran  to  her  mother,  bewailing  the  injury  to  her  dress ;  the 
bandage  over  her  eyes  beneficently  shielded  her  from  per- 
ceiving the  angry  looks  of  the  ladies,  and  absorbed  the 
tears  which  she  was  silently  shedding  for  her  straw  hat. 
She  stood  motionless  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn,  and  did 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  37 

not  know  what  to  do, — for  no  children  seemed  to  be  near, 
— the  game  appeared  to  be  interrupted.  Suddenly  she 
received  a  sound  box  on  the  ear.  The  younger  brother 
of  the  aggrieved  young  lady  had  stolen  up  and  avenged 
his  sister.  Then  the  tormented  child  was  filled  with 
indignation  and  rage  that  almost  deprived  her  of  reason. 
She  seized  the  boy  as  he  tried  to  pass  her,  and  began  to 
struggle  with  him.  He  forced  her  backwards,  step  by 
step.  She  could  not  free  her  hands  to  untie  the  bandage ; 
she  did  not  know  where  she  was  ;  she  would  not  let  go 
her  enemy,  for  her  sufferings  had  filled  her  little  heart 
with  hate  and  fury.  There  was  a  scream,  and  at  the 
same  instant  she  stumbled  over  something  and  fell ;  she 
kept  her  hold  of  her  foe,  but  she  felt  that  she  was  up  to 
her  knees  in  water, — she  had  stumbled  into  the  basin 
of  the  fountain.  The  guests  hurried  up.  First  seizing 
the  boy,  who  was  still  in  Ernestine's  grasp,  they  placed 
him  in  safety,  and  then  they  helped  out  the  trembling 
child,  who  stood  there  with  torn,  dripping  clothes,  an 
object  of  terror  and  disgust  to  herself  and  to  everybody 
else. 

What  mischief  the  horrible  creature  had  done !  She 
had  almost  fractured  one  child's  skull,  she  had  torn  the 
expensive  dress  of  another,  and  had  tried  to  drown  a 
third  ! 

"Pray,  my  dear  Staatsrathin,  have  my  carriage  or- 
dered," said  one  of  the  injured  mothers ;  "  one's  life  is 
not  safe  here !" 

"  Supper  is  ready,"  replied  the  Staatsrathin.  "  Let 
me  entreat  you  all  to  go  into  the  house.  I  will  answer 
for  the  lives  of  your  children  as  long  as  they  are  my 
guests,"  she  added  with  a  slight  smile. 

The  ladies  all  called  their  sons  and  daughters  to  them, 
to  protect  them  from  the  little  monster,  who  still  stood 
there,  bewildered  and  crushed,  upon  the  lawn,  look- 
ing on  with  a  bleeding  heart,  as  the  children,  laughing 
and  joking,  clung  to  their  parents,  whom  they  kissed  and 
caressed  with  affectionate  freedom.  Every  child  there 
had  a  mother  or  a  father  who  fondled  it.  She — she  alone 
was  thrust  out  and  forsaken, — no  one  remembered  that 
she  was  tired  and  wet  through, — no  one  cared  for  her. 

4 


38  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

The  charming  little  Angelika  was  everywhere  in  requisi- 
tion, and  could  not  come  to  her, — the  Staatsrathin  was 
entreating  her  guests  to  pardon  her  for  inviting  a  child 
whom  she  did  not  know  ;  how  could  she  possibly  sup- 
pose that  Herr  von  Hartwich  had  a  daughter  so  ne- 
glected ?  Ernestine  heard  it  all.  She  could  no  longer 
stand, — she  fell  upon  her  knees,  and,  sobbing  violently, 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  The  Staatsrathin  was  now 
free  to  corne  to  her,  and  hastily  approached. 

"  Oh,  you  poor  little  thing,  you  are  wet  through,  and 
no  one  has  thought  of  you,"  she  cried  kindly,  at  sight  of 
Ernestine.  "  Go  into  the  house  quickly,  and  put  on  a  pair 
of  my  little  girl's  shoes  and  stockings ;  my  room  is  just 
to  the  right  of  the  drawing-room.  Go  immediately, — do 
you  hear?  I  cannot  stay  away  from  my  guests." 

"  Forgive  me, — it  is  not  my  fault !"  stammered  Ernes- 
tine. 

"  Indeed  it  is  not,  my  dear  child, "said  the  Staatsrathin 
gravely.  "  I  only  pity  you, — I  am  not  angry  with  you  ! 
But  hurry  now  and  take  off  your  dress, — I  will  send  you 
your  supper  to  my  room.  1  know  you  would  rather  eat 
it  alone." 

And  she  hastened  away  to  her  guests  just  as  a  vehicle 
drove  up  and  a  strikingly  handsome  young  man  about 
twenty  years  old  sprang  out  and  hurried  up  to  her.  "  My 
dear  boy,"  she  cried,  "  is  it  you  ?  I  did  not  expect  you 
yet!" 

The  youth  kissed  her  hand  and  bowed  courteously  to 
the  rest.  The  Staatsrathin's  eyes  rested  upon  him  with 
the  pride  with  which  a  woman  during  her  life  regards 
two  men  only, — a  lover  and  a  darling  son.  The  guests 
surrounded  him  with  congratulations  upon  the  day's  suc- 
cess ;  Angelika  danced  around  him,  and  the  other  children 
all  wanted  a  hand  or  a  kiss.  There  was  quite  a  little 
uproar  of  delight. 

Suddenly  the  Staatsrathin  cried  out  in  a  startled  tone, 
"  Little  Ernestine  has  gone  !  Heavens,  that  poor  child 
wet  through  in  the  cool  evening  air!  I  cannot  allow  it! 
Johannes,  my  dear  son,  run  quickly,  bring  her  back." 

"  Who, — what  ?"  he  asked  in  amazement. 

"  But,  my  dearest  Staatsrathin,"  said  the  mother  of 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  39 

the  boy  whom  Ernestine's  shot  had  wounded,  "how  can 
you  worry  yourself  about  the  little  witch  ?  she  is  tougher 
than  our  children." 

The  Staatsriithin  glanced  at  her  contemptuously,  and, 
turning  to  Johannes,  continued  :  "  She  is  a  pale,  meanly- 
clad  little  girl,  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age  ;  you  cannot 
miss  her  if  you  take  the  path  to  Hartwich's  estate  ;  she 
is  his  daughter.  Hasten,  Johannes,  hasten  !"  He  obeyed, 
while  she  conducted  her  guests  to  their  sumptuous  repast. 

Meanwhile  Ernestine  ran  through  the  grove  as  quickly 
as  she  could,  and  began  to  breathe  freely  as  she  lost  sight 
of  the  house  where  she  had  undergone  so  much.  But 
her  strength  soon  failed  her.  Her  wet  shoes  and  stock- 
ings clung  like  heavy  lumps  of  lead  to  her  weary  feet  and 
impeded  her  steps;  she  was  conscious  of  gnawing  hunger, 
and  the  first  care  for  the  future  that  she  had  yet  felt  in 
her  short  life  assailed  her, — she  was  afraid  that  it  would 
be  too  late  for  her  to  get  anything  to  eat  when  she 
reached  home;  it  was  growing  dark,  and  it  would  be  ten 
o'clock ;  Frau  Gedike  would  be  in  bed.  And  that  was 
not  the  worst  that  she  had  to  look  forward  to  ;  the  straw 
hat,  whose  brim  was  still  hanging  around  her  neck, — the 
heavy,  torn  straw  hat,  would  certainly  bring  her  a  severe 
chastisement.  She  sat  down  upon  a  mound  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  grove,  and  took  off  the  brim  to  see  if  she  could 
contrive  some  way  of  fastening  it  to  the  crown,  which  she 
carried  in  her  hand.  The  tree  above  her  shook  its  boughs 
compassionately  and  threw  down  its  leaves  upon  her 
dishevelled  locks.  She  never  heeded  them, — the  convic- 
tion lay  heavy  upon  her  childish  heart  that  she  could  not 
possibly  mend  the  hat  before  Frau  Gedike  would  see  it. 
Tear  after  tear  dropped  upon  the  fragments,  and  her  large, 
swimming  eyes  glimmered  in  the  moonlight  from  out  her 
pale  face  like  glow-worms  in  a  lily-cup.  Suddenly  she 
started  violently,  for  some  one  stood  before  her,  and  she 
recognized  the  young  man  whose  arrival  had  just  enabled 
her  to  make  her  escape.  He  looked  at  her  silently  for  a 
while,  and  then  said,  "  Are  you  the  little  girl  who  came 
to  us  to-day,  and  then  ran  away  secretly  ?" 
"  Yes,"  stammered  Ernestine. 
"  Why  have  you  done  so  ?"  he  asked  further. 


40  ONLY  A    GIRL  ; 

Ernestine  made  no  reply.  She  was  more  ashamed  be- 
fore Johannes  than  before  all  the  rest  of  the  company. 
He  was  very  different  from  every  one  else  there, — so 
proud  and  strong, — he  would  despise  her  more  than  the 
others  had  done,  for  he  was  much  handsomer  and  finer 
than  they,  and  worth  more  than  all  of  them.  She  did 
not  venture  to  look  up  at  him;  she  was  afraid  of  meeting 
another  of  those  glances  that  had  so  tortured  her.  Then 
the  young  man  took  her  hand  and  said  kindly,  "  Well, 
you  pale  little  dryad,  can  you  not  speak  ?  Will  you  go 
with  me,  or  would  you  rather  spend  the  night  in  your 
tree?" 

"  I  want  to  go  home !"  said  Ernestine. 

"  I  cannot  let  you  go  home.  I  must  take  you  to  my 
mother.  She  is  afraid  you  will  take  cold.  Come !" 

Ernestine  shrunk  back.    "  I  cannot  go  there  any  more  1" 

"  Why  not  ?     What  have  they  done  to  you  ?" 

"  They  laughed  at  me,  and  jeered  me,"  cried  the  irri- 
tated child;  "they  despised  me;  and  I  will  not  be 
despised  !  I  will  not !" 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"Even  if  I  am  ugly,"  she  continued,  "and  poor,  and 
badly  taught,  and  awkward,  I  will  not  be  treated  like  a 
dog!"  There  was  a  tone  of  despair  in  her  voice,  her 
chest  panted  within  her  narrow  dress,  her  teeth  chattered 
with  cold  and  excitement. 

"Poor  child  !"  said  Johannes;  "they  must  have  used 
you  ill, — but  my  mother  was  surely  kind  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  was  kind,  but  she  was  vexed  with  me  at  last ; 
I  heard  her  blaming  me  to  the  others.  And  I  do  not 
want  to  see  her  again, — not  until  I  am  grown  up  and  can 
be  as  dignified  and  gentle  as  she  is." 

"Are  you  so  certain,  then,  that  you  will  one  day  be  as 
gentle  and  dignified  ?"  asked  Johannes  smiling. 

"  Yes,  the  schoolmaster  says,  and  the  old  gentleman 
said  too,  that  if  I  were  a  boy  something  might  be  made 
of  me.  Oh,  something  shall  be  made  of  me, — if  I  am 
only  a  girl.  I  will  not  always  have  boys  held  up  to  me ; 
when  I  am  grown  up,  they  shall  see  that  a  girl  is  as  good 
as  a  boy ;  all  these  bad,  unkind  people  shall  respect  me  ; 
if  they  do  not,  I  would  rather  die !" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  41 

"You  queer  child!"  laughed  Johannes,  "it  would  be 
hard  to  tame  you.  But  see,  if  you  stay  any  longer  here 
with  me  in  the  night  air,  you  will  take  cold,  and  then 
you  may  die  before  you  have  carried  out  all  your  resolu- 
tions ;  think  how  bad  that  will  be !" 

With  these  words  he  attempted  to  lead  the  child  away 
with  him,  but  she  snatched  her  hand  from  him  and  clung 
to  the  tree  beneath  which  she  had  been  sitting.  "No, 
no,"  she  breathlessly  entreated,  "dear  sir,  let  me  go — do 
not  take  me  back  again — please,  please,  not  there  !" 

"  Obstinate  little  thing,  you  must  come,"  laughed  Jo- 
hannes. "  Do  you  suppose  I  can  go  back  without  you,  after 
having  been  sent  to  find  you  like  a  stray  lamb?  My 
mother  would  shut  me  up  for  three  days  upon  bread  and 
water  if  I  did  not  bring  you  back ;  you  would  not  like 
that,  would  you  ?" 

"  Ah,  you  are  laughing  at  me.  I  will  not  go  back  with 
you,  I  will  not,"  sobbed  Ernestine. 

"  Will  not  ?  What  is  the  use  of  such  words  from  a 
weak  little  girl  who  can  be  easily  carried  in  arms  ?"  With 
these  words  Johannes  good-hurnouredly  lifted  p]rnestine 
from  the  ground  and  placed  her  on  his  shoulder  to  take 
her  back  to  the  castle.  But  she  succeeded  in  grasping 
an  overhanging  branch  of  the  oak-tree  just  above  her, 
and,  before  Johanues  could  prevent  it,  she  had  swung  her- 
self up  by  it,  and  was  clambering  like  a  squirrel  from 
bough  to  bough. 

"  This  is  delightful  1"  cried  Johannes,  much  amused  ; 
"  you  are  really,  then,  a  dryad  in  disguise  ?  Such  a  prize 
must  not  escape ;  to  be  sure,  I  never  dreamed  to-day, 
when  I  passed  my  examination,  that  the  new  Herr  Doc- 
tor's first  feat  would  be  to  climb  a  tree  after  a  wayward 
little  girl ;  but  the  episode  is  much  more  poetic  than 
marching  up  and  down  stairs,  making  my  best  bow  to  my 
old  examiners."  During  this  soliloquy  he  had  taken  off 
his  coat  and  climbed  into  the  tree. 

But  when  he  tried  to  seize  Ernestine,  she  retreated  to 
the  extremity  of  the  bough  upon  which  she  was  sitting, 
and  was  quite  out  of  his  reach  ;  he  could  not  follow  her, 
for  the  slender  branch  creaked  and  drooped  so,  even  be- 
neath the  child's  light  weight,  that  he  momentarily  ex- 

4* 


42  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

pected  it  to  break.  The  jest  had  become  earnest  indeed : 
if  the  little  girl  fell,  she  would  fall  a  double  distance, — the 
height  of  the  tree  and  of  the  hill  which  the  tree  crowned. 
Quick  as  thought  the  young  man  swung  himself  down  to 
the  ground,  and  took  his  station  where  he  might,  if  pos- 
sible, receive  Ernestine  in  his  arms  if  she  fell.  For  the  first 
time  he  now  saw  how  high  she  was  perched,  and  a  cloud 
before  the  moon  just  at  the  moment  prevented  his  per- 
ceiving the  exact  direction  that  she  must  take  in  falling. 
His  anxiety  was  intense.  The  responsibility  of  a  human 
life  was  suddenly  thrust  upon  him.  If  he  did  not  succeed 
in  catching  the  falling  child,  she  would  shortly  lie  before 
him,  if  not  a  corpse,  at  least  with  broken  limbs.  The 
steep  hill,  too,  made  it  almost  impossible  for  him  to  main- 
tain a  firm  footing;  wherever  he  planted  his  feet,  they 
slipped  continually.  .The  blood  rushed  to  his  face  ;  his 
heart  beat  audibly;  with  outstretched  arms  he  gazed  up  at 
the  child,  who  sat  above  him,  all  unconscious  of  her  danger. 

"  Little  one,"  he  cried  breathlessly,  "  the  branch  where 
you  are  sitting  will  not  bear  you !  scramble  back  again, 
or  you  will  fall !" 

"  I  will  not  come  down  until  you  promise  me  not  to 
carry  me  back  !  I  shall  not  fall,"  she  panted,  and  snatched 
at  a  stronger  bough  above  her,  but  it  sprang  back  from 
her  grasp,  leaving  only  a  few  twigs  in  her  hand. 

"  I  will  promise  anything  that  you  want,"  cried  Jo- 
hannes in  deadly  terror,  "  only  go  back  quickly  to  the 
trunk — quickly — quickly !" 

The  bough  cracked,  just  as  the  child  swung  herself  to- 
wards the  trunk,  and  it  fell  to  the  ground, — leaving  her 
clinging  to  the  stump  where  it  grew  from  the  trunk ;  and 
when  Johannes  climbed  up  to  her  and  she  could  at  last 
reach  his  shoulder,  she  was  trembling  so  with  fright  that 
she  willingly  clasped  her  thin  arms  around  his  neck. 
With  difficulty  he  reached  the  ground  again  with  his  bur- 
den, his  hands  scratched  and  bleeding  and  his  shirt-sleeve 
torn.  He  put  down  Ernestine,  and,  stepping  back  a  pace 
or  two,  regarded  her  gravely ;  then,  after  wiping  the  moist- 
ure from  his  brow,  he  began  in  a  serious  tone  of  voice, 
"  Do  you  know  what  I  would  do  if  I  were  your  father  ?" 

Ernestine  looked  up  at  him  inquiringly. 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  43 

"  I  would  give  you  a  taste  of  the  rod,  that  you  might 
le fir n  riot  to  frighten  people  so  just  for  your  own  way- 
ward whims !" 

'1  hese  words,  prompted  by  the  young  man's  irritation 
at  the  anxiety  to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  had  a 
fearful  effect  upon  the  child.  She  gave  a  piercing  cry, 
and  threw  herself  upon  the  ground.  "  Oh,  nothing  but 
blows,  blows — he  too,  he  too  !  Who  will  not  strike  me 
and  abuse  rue  ?  who  is  there  to  take  pity  upon  me  ?" 
and  she  sobbed  uncontrollably. 

'•  Good  heavens,"  said  Johannes,  half  compassionately 
and  half  annoyed,  "  was  there  ever  such  a  child  !  First 
you  climb  into  a  tree  at  peril  of  your  life,  just  that  you 
may  gratify  your  self-will,  and  then  a  single  word  of 
blame  crushes  you  to  the  earth.  I  never  saw  anything 
like  it !"  Saying  this,  he  lifted  her  up  and  held  her  out 
before  him  in  the  moonlight,  regarding  her  as  one  would 
some  rare  animal  or  natural  curiosity. 

"Here  is  a  thing,"  he  said,  more  to  himself  than  to 
Ernestine,  "  so  frail  and  delicate  that  you  could  crush 
it  in  your  grasp,  but  there  is  such  strength  of  will  in 
the  little  frame  that  one  is  forced  to  yield  to  it,  and 
such  a  wildly  throbbing  heart  in  the  little  breast  that 
one  is  carried  away  by  it  in  spite  of  one's  self.  I  should 
like  to  know  what  odd  combinations  have  produced  this 
strange  piece  of  humanity.  Do  not  cry  any  more,  little 
one  ;  I  will  not  harm  you — what  eyes  the  creature  has  ! 
You  are  a  remarkable  child,  but  I  would  not  like  to  have 
the  charge  of  you — you  would  puzzle  one  well,  and  force 
and  blows  would  have  no  effect  upon  you  !" 

With  these  words  he  put  her  down  upon  the  ground 
again  and  picked  up  his  coat  to  put  it  on.  As  he  did 
so,  he  felt  something  hard  in  the  pocket ;  he  looked 
to  see  what  it  was,  and  drew  out  a  book  in  a  splendid 
binding. 

"  Ah,"  he  cried  gaily,  "  I  had  forgotten  this.  Can  you 
read  ?" 

Ernestine  nodded.  She  was  glad  that  she  had  not  to 
say  no ;  how  ashamed  she  would  have  been  ! 

"  Come,  that's  right  1"  said  the  young  man  ;  and  Er- 
nestine was  very  proud  of  those  first  words  of  commen- 


44  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

dation,  and  determined  instantly  to  be  doubly  diligent, 
that  she  might  some  time  hear  just  such  another"  That's 
right !" 

Johannes  put  the  book  into  her  hand.  "  There,  you 
shall  have  that,  that  you  may  carry  something  pleasant 
home  with  you  after  such  a  dreary  day.  The  stories  are 
charming.  I  brought  it  out  for  my  little  sister  Angelika, 
but  I  could  not  give  it  to  her  because  I  had  to  run  after  you. 
Now  I  am  glad  that  I  have  it  still  and  can  give  it  to  you." 

"Yes — but  Angelika?"  Ernestine  asked  hesitatingly. 

"  She  shall  have  another  to-morrow.  Take  it,  and  read 
the  story  of  the  Ugly  Duckling ;  that  will  comfort  you 
when  people  are  cross  to  you.  Take  it — why  do  you 
hesitate  ?" 

The  child  took  the  book  as  carefully  and  timidly  as  if 
jt  were  in  reality  a  fairy  book  and  would  vanish  at  her 
touch.  When  she  had  it  in  her  hands  and  it  did  not  dis- 
appear, and  she  could  really  believe  in  her  happiness  in 
receiving  such  a  present,  she  uttered  a  scarcely  audible 
"  Thank  you  very  much  !"  but  the  look  that  accompa- 
nied the  words  touched  Johannes. 

"You  do  not  often  have  presents?"  he  asked. 

"Never!" 

"Oh  !  you  seem  not  to  be  very  affectionately  treated. 
Does  not  your  mother  ever  give  you  anything  ?" 

"  I  have  no  mother.  She  died  because  I  was  not  a 
boy." 

"A  most  remarkable  cause  of  death,"  observed  Jo- 
hannes, half  dryly,  half  compassionately. 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  a  mother,  everything  would  be  different." 
And  the  large  tears  rolled  down  over  her  cheeks. 

"  Listen,  little  one,"  said  Johannes  kindly,  after  a 
pause.  "  I  have  a  dear  mother,  and  I  will  share  her  with 
you — half  a  mother's  heart  is  better  than  none  at  all. 
Come  home  with  me.  You  shall  be  my  little  sister,  and 
you  will  be  gentle  enough  when  you  know  us  better." 

Ernestine  shook  her  head  decidedly.  The  thought  of 
returning  to  the  castle  again  filled  her  with  dismay.  "  No, 
no,  never!"  she  cried  in  terror.  "Your  mother  would 
not  love  me — she  could  not !  You  promised  me  a  minute 
ago  not  to  force  me  to  anything,  and  if  you  think  now 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  45 

that  I  ought  to  do  as  you  please,  because  you  have  given 
me  the  book,  I  would  rather  not  have  it.  There,  take  it — 
I  will  not  have  it!" 

Johannes  rejected  the  offered  book  with  some  vexation. 
"  Keep  it,"  be  said.  "  I  gave  it  to  you  unconditionally. 
I  only  thought  that  my  kindness  had  made  you  gentler 
and  more  docile,  but  I  was  wrong.  You  are  not  to  be 
moved  by  kindness  either.  Sad  to  see  a  heart  so  early 
hardened  !" 

Ernestine  stood  motionless,  with  downcast  eyes — she 
scarcely  breathed ;  the  emotions  that  agitated  her  were  so 
novel,  so  different  from  anything  she  had  hitherto  expe- 
rienced, that  she  struggled  in  vain  to  give  utterance  to 
them ;  her  childish  lips  had  no  words  to  express  them. 
She  was  pained,  and  yet  her  pain,  although  deeper  than 
any  she  had  already  suffered,  had  no  bitterness  in  it. 
She  did  not  hate  him  who  had  caused  it — she  could  have 
kissed  his  hand,  and,  falling  at  his  feet,  begged  him  to 
forgive  her — but  she  did  not  dare  to  do  so. 

"  Well,"  he  asked,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "shall  I  go 
home  with  you  ?" 

Ernestine  shook  her  head. 

"Not  that,  either?  Will  you  go  alone?"  he  asked 
impatiently. 

Ernestine  nodded. 

"  Well,  I  have  promised  to  do  as  you  pleased,  and  I 
shall  keep  my  promise,  although  I  do  not  think  it  right  to 
leave  you  to  go  home  alone  so  late  at  night.  Let  me  at 
least  go  with  you  across  the  fields?  Are  you  grown 
dumb  ?" 

Ernestine  lifted  to  his  her  large  melancholy  eyes  so  be- 
seechingly that  he  lost  his  composure.  "  You  are  enough 
to  drive  one  insane,  you  enigmatical  little  creature  !  Who 
taught  you  that  look — the  look  of  an  angel  imprisoned  by 
some  evil  magician  in  the  body  of  a  kobold  ?  God  knows 
what  will  become  of  you!  You  will  not  let  me  come, 
then  ?  No  ?  Are  you  not  afraid  ?  Nothing  to  be  got 
out  of  you  but  a  shake  of  the  head  !  Well,  go !  I  can- 
not force  you.  Good-night,  then  !"  He  held  out  his 
hand  ;  she  seized  it,  pressed  it  with  passionate  energy, 
and  then  ran  across  the  fields  as  fast  as  her  feet  could 


46  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

carry  her.  Johannes  let  her  run  for  some  minutes,  and 
then  followed  her  at  a  distance ;  he  could  not  allow  the 
helpless  child  to  go  home  without  watching  over  her 
safety.  She  ran  as  if  she  had  wings,  without  once  looking 
round  ;  but  Johannes  noticed  that  she  kissed  the  book 
several  times,  and  pressed  it  to  her  heart,  as  if  it  had  been 
some  living  thing.  When  at  last  he  came  in  sight  of 
Ernestine's  home,  he  stopped.  "  Heaven  be  merciful  to  the 
man  who  will  one  day  take  her  for  a  wife !"  he  thought, 
and  slowly  turned  away. 

Ernestine  entered  the  garden  of  her  dreary  home 
with  a  throbbing  heart.  A  grumbling  maid-servant 
opened  the  door  for  her.  "  You  are  late,"  she  scolded. 
"  That  is  just  like  you — first  you  wouldn't  go,  and  then 
you  don't  want  to  come  home.  You  always  want  to  do 
something  else  than  what  you  should." 

Ernestine  made  no  reply.  "Can  I  have  something  to 
eat  ?"  she  asked  briefly. 

"  To  eat !  Likely,  indeed  !  Am  I  to  go  to  the  stable 
at  ten  o'clock  at  night  and  milk  a  cow  for  you  ?  for  there 
is  nothing  else  that  I  can  get.  You  know  well  enough 
that  I  have  no  keys!" 

"Is  Frau  Gedike  in  bed,  then  ?" 

"  If  you  were  not  so  stupid,  you  might  know  that !" 

"But  I  am  hungry  I" 

"  That  serves  you  right ;  you  should  have  eaten 
enough  at  the  party.  Of  course  they  gave  you  some- 
thing to  eat?" 

Ernestine  was  silent,  and  followed  the  maid  into  the 
room,  where  she  hastily  concealed  her  torn  hat  in  the 
wardrobe.  "  My  feet  are  wet,"  she  said,  shivering.  "Give 
rue  some  dry  stockings." 

"  Of  course  you  have  been  dragging  through  all  the 
puddles,  and  then  want  dry  stockings  at  this  hour  of  the 
night !  Get  into  bed  as  soon  as  you  can ;  you  will  have 
no  other  stockings  to-night.  Good-night — I  am  going  to 
bed  myself."  And  the  servant  left  the  room,  taking  with 
her  the  dim  tallow  candle  that  she  had  in  her  hand,  and 
Ernestine  was  left  alone  in  the  apartment,  into  which  the 
moon  shone  brightly.  Suppressed  rage  at  the  servant's 
coarse  harshness  burrowed  and  gnawed  in  the  child's 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  47 

heart  like  a  hidden  mole  Everything  that  had  lately 
happened  vanished  at  this  rude  contact.  Her  soul  had 
expanded  at  the  first  touch  of  a  large,  kindly  nature,  like 
a  bud  in  the  air  of  spring — the  frost  that  no\v  fell  upon'it 
was  doubly  painful.  She  was  again  the  same  forsaken, 
abused  child  whose  vital  energies  were  consumed  by  im- 
potent hate  of  her  tormentors.  Had  she  really  lived  the 
last  hour?  Had  any  one  really  spoken  so  kindly  to  her 
— one,  too,  better  and  handsomer  than  all  the  others  ? 

She  caught  up  her  book  as  if  it  were  a  talisman  ;  it 
was  real ;  it  had  not  vanished  ;  it  was  all  true,  then.  And 
yet  she  had  been  so  self-willed  and  cross  to  the  kind, 
kind  gentleman,  and  had  not  even  told  him  how  grateful 
she  was;  how  he  must  despise  her!  He  could  not  do 
otherwise.  She  understood  now  how  different  she  must 
be  before  she  could  hope  to  win  the  liking  of  such  a  man 
as  Johannes.  How  should  she  do  it?  She  could  not 
tell ;  but  something  stirred  within  her  that  exalted  her 
above  herself.  She  looked  up  to  heaven  in  childlike  en- 
treaty, and  prayed,  "Dear  God,  make  me  good  !"'  Then 
she  pressed  the  book  to  her  heart ;  it  was  her  most  pre- 
cious possession,  her  first  friend  ;  and  the  desire  took 
hold  of  her  to  see  now  what  this  friend  would  tell  her. 
But  she  could  not  read  by  moonlight,  and  she  dared  not 
get  a  candle,  for  she  slept  next  to  Frau  Gedike,  who 
allowed  no  reading  at  night.  She  stood  hesitating  and 
looked  sorrowfully  at  the  beautiful  binding,  with  its 
gay  arabesques.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  there 
was  always  a  night-lamp  burning  in  her  father's  room  ; 
it  was  a  happy  thought.  Slie  drew  off  her  wet  boots 
with  difficulty,  and  crept  softly  into  Hartwich's  apart- 
ment. The  invalid  was  lying  upon  his  back,  sound  asleep. 
He  breathed  and  snored  so  loudly  that  the  child  was 
almost  terrified ;  but  she  was  determined  to  proceed, 
and  slipped  past  the  bed.  She  seated  herself  cautiously, 
opened  the  book  in  a  state  of  feverish  expectation,  and 
of  course  turned  to  the  story  that  Johannes  had  men- 
tioned to  her.  The  book  contained  the  charming,  touch- 
ing tales  of  Hans  Andersen.  Ernestine,  greatly  moved, 
read  the  story  of  the  Ugly  Duckling.  She  read  how 
it  was  abused  and  maltreated  bv  all  because  it  was 


48  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

so  different  from  the  other  ducks,  and  how  at  last  it  came 
to  be  a  magnificent  swan,  far  liner  and  more  beautiful 
than  the  insignificant  fowls  who  had  despised  it.  The  im- 
pression made  upon  her  by  this  story  is  not  to  be  described. 
The  poor  duckling's  woes  were  hers  also,  and  as  if  upon 
swan's  pinions  the  promise  of  a  fair  future  hovered  above 
her  from  the  page  that  she  was  reading.  "  Shall  I  ever 
be  such  a  swan  ?"  she  asked  again  and  again.  Her  heart 
overflowed  with  new  emotions  of  joy  and  pain,  she  covered 
her  eyes  with  her  thin  hands  and  sobbed  as  if  she  would, 
as  the  saying  is,  "cry  her  soul  out."  Then  her  father 
awoke,  and  called  out,  "Who  is  there?"  Ernestine 
hastened  to  him  and  fell  on  her  knees  at  his  bedside. 
She  seized  his  hand  and  would  have  kissed  it ;  he 
snatched  it  angrily  away,  but  the  tears  that  she  had 
shed  had  melted  her  very  heart.  "  Father,  dear  father  I" 
she  cried,  "  I  have  been  very  naughty  and  self-willed. 
Forgive,  and  love  me  only  a  little,  and  I  will  love  you 
dearly  !" 

Hartwich  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  growled, 
"  Why  did  you  wake  me  ?  Where's  the  use  of  slipping 
in  here  at  this  hour  ?  Do  you  think  I  had  rather  listen 
to  your  stupid  whining  than  sleep  ?" 

"Father,"  cried  Ernestine,  taking  his  lame  hand  that 
he  could  not  withdraw  from  her.  "  Father,  do  not  send 
me  away  from  you.  I  will  be  good, — help  me  to  be  so. 
I  cannot  be  good  if  you  are  always  harsh  to  me.  I  saw 
to-day  how  all  the  children  have  parents  who  love  them. 
I  only  am  disliked  by  every  one,  and  yet  1  have  a  heart 
too,  and  would  love  to  see  kind  looks  and  hear  kind 
words.  I  will  not  cry  ever  any  more,  if  you  will  not 
make  me  cry,  and  I  will  try  my  best  to  be  just  like  a 
boy,  that  you  may  not  be  sorry  any  more  that  I  am  a 
girl.  Ah,  father,  it  seems  to-day  as  if  the  dear  God  in 
heaven  had  told  me  what  I  long  for.  Love,  father,  love, — 
ah,  give  me  some,  and  take  pity  upon  your  poor  u^lv 
child!" 

The  invalid  had  turned  towards  the  child  again,  and 
was  staring  at  her  in  amazement,  with  lack-lustre  eyes  ; 
it  seemed  as  if  some  unbidden  feeling  were  struggling  for 
utterance  from  the  depths  of  his  moral  and  physical 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  49 

degradation;  his  breath  came  quick,  he  tried  to  speak. 
Ernestine  did  not  venture  to  look  at  him  ;  a  strong  odour 
of  brandy  told  her  that  her  father's  face  was  near  her 
own,  but  this  odour  was  so  utterly  disgusting  to  her 
that  she  involuntarily  recoiled,  and  thus  avoided  the  lips 
that  would  perhaps  have  bestowed  upon  her  the  first  kiss 
that  she  had  ever  in  her  life  received  from  them.  The 
invalid  must  have  known  this,  for  he  turned  away  again, 
muttering  something  unintelligible.  After  a  long  pause, 
he  felt  for  a  tumbler  that  stood  on  a  table  beside  his  bed, 
but  it  was  empty.  "  I'm  thirsty  !"  he  said  peevishly. 
"  Shall  I  bring  you  some  water,  father  ?"  asked  Ernes- 
tine. The  sick  man  made  a  gesture  of  disgust.  "  No ! 
but  you  can  go  up  to  your  uncle  and  tell  him  to  send  me 
that  medicine  that  he  spoke  of;  he  will  know  what  I 
want.  But  ask  him  only, — do  you  hear  ? — him  only.  And 
tell  no  one  that  I  sent  you,  or  you  shall  suffer  lor  it,  [ 
promise  you.  And  now  go  quickly :  I'm  tortured  with 
thirst!"  * 

Ernestine  arose  from  her  knees,  and  looked  at  her 
father  with  the  grief  that  we  feel  when  we  have  lavished 
our  best,  our  most  sacred  emotions  upon  an  unworthy 
object.  Hitherto  she  had  required  nothing  of  him  ;  to- 
day, for  the  first  time,  as  she  looked  around  for  some  one 
to  whose  love,  in  her  loneliness,  she  possessed  a  right,  it 
had  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  a  father.  She  had 
turned  to  him  with  an  overflowing  heart,  and  had  found 
a  drunkard,  who  had  resigned  all  claims  to  respect,  both 
as  a  man  and  a  father.  Mute  and  crushed  alike  phys- 
ically and  mentally,  she  slipped  out  and  up  the  stairs 
to  her  uncle.  She  was  to  bring  brandy  to  the  sick  man, 
although  she  remembered  that  the  physician  had  for- 
bidden all  heating  drinks;  but  she  must  fulfil  her  father's 
commands,  or  receive  the  cruellest  treatment  at  his  hands. 
She  entered  her  uncle's  room,  slowly  and  timidly;  she 
was  afraid  of  his  wife.  But  Bertha  had  gone  to  lied; 
there  was  no  one  in  the  room  but  Leuthold,  who  was 
standing  by  the  open  window,  to  the  frame  of  which  he 
had  screwed  a  long  tube. 

"Ah,  little  Ernestine,  have  you  come  so  late  to  see 
vour  uncle  ?"  he  said  kindly. 

5 


50  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"Uncle,  what  is  that?"  asked  Ernestine,  forgetting 
her  errand  in  her  wonder  at  the  strange  instrument. 

"  That  is  a  telescope,"  her  uncle  informed  her. 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  it  ?"  she  asked  further. 

"  I  am  looking  into  the  moon,  my  child." 

"Ah!  can  you  do  that?"  she  cried,  in  the  greatest 
amazement. 

"  Certainly  I  can.  Would  vou  like  to  look  through 
it?" 

"  Ah,  yes ;  if  I  only  might !"  whispered  Ernestine, 
enchanted  at  the  offer. 

Leuthold  lifted  her  upon  the  window-sill  and  adjusted 
the  telescope  for  her.  She  was  half  frightened  when  she 
suddenly  found  the  shining  sphere,  which  she  had  always 
seen  hovering  so  far  above  her  in  the  sky,  brought  so 
near  to  her  eyes.  Her  breast  expanded  to  receive  such 
an  inconceivable  miracle.  She  gazed  and  gazed,  looking, 
breathless  with  the  desire  of  knowledge,  at  the  mount- 
ains, valleys,  and  jagged  craters  that  were  so  magically 
revealed.  The  warm  night  air  fanned  her  burning  brow. 
Everything  around  her  faded  and  was  forgotten  as  the 
tired  heart  of  the  child  throbbed  with  fervent  longing  for 
the  peace  of  that  new,  distant  world. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ATONEMENT. 

THE  day  began  slowly  to  dawn,  for  a  dim,  cloudy  sky 
usurped  the  throne  of  departing  night.  Drops  of  rain 
fell  here  and  there, — it  was  a  cheerless  morning.  Not  a, 
cock  crowed — not  a  bird  was  stirring.  The  dog  remained 
hidden  in  his  kennel. 

Now  and  then  an  early  labourer,  with  his  spade  upon 
his  shoulder,  would  pass  along  the  fence  encircling  Hart- 
wich's  estate,  and  would  look  over  it  with  surprise  at  the 
strange  bustle  prevailing  in  house  and  court-yard.  Doors 
opened  and  shut;  servant-maids,  with  eyes  heavy 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN-  FOR   THE  SOUL.  51 

with  sleep,  were  running  hither  and  thither ;  water  was 
brought  from  the  well;  no  questions  or  answers  were 
exchanged.  It  was  as  if  every  one  avoided  speaking  of 
what  had  occurred.  A  groom  brought  a  saddled  horse 
from  the  stable,  mounted,  and  galloped  furiously  in  the 
direction  of  the  estate  of  the  Staatsriithin.  "Is  there  a 
fire  anywhere  ?"  a  couple  of  peasants  shouted  after  him, 
but  he  made  no  reply.  Without  a  word,  he  galloped 
across  field  and  moor,  never  drawing  rein  until  he  reached 
the  garden  of  the  Staatsrathin.  He  tugged  violently  at 
the  bell  until  a  sleepy  servant  came  to  the  door  and  asked 
him  angrily  what  he  wanted. 

"  Wake  up  the  Gehcimrath  Heim,  he  is  here  on  a  visit. 
The  village  doctor  sent  me, — a  human  life  is  at  stake  !" 

The  servant  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  stared  in- 
quiringly at  the  gro9m. 

"  Yes,  yes;  quick,  be  quick  !  Hartwich  has  beaten  his 
child  so,  we  think  she  is  dying.  The  barber  says  perhaps 
the  Geheimrath  can  save  her." 

"  Good  gracious,  that  is  terrible !"  cried  the  horrified 
servant,  and  ran  to  call  the  old  gentleman. 

The  Gehcimrath  was  up  in  a  moment;  without  losing 
time  by  a  single  word,  he  dressed  himself,  mounted  the 
groom's  horse,  and  rushed  off  to  the  scene  of  the  dis- 
aster. 

Before  the  door  of  the  house,  awaiting  his  arrival, 
stood  the  village  barber-surgeon,  who  received  him  with 
the  deepest  reverence.  "  Herr  Geheimrath,  I  pray  you 
to  excuse  me, — but,  as  I  knew  you  were  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, I  conceived  it  my  duty  to  entreat  your  assist- 
ance before  sending  for  the  physician,  who  lives  three 
leagues  off.  The  case  seems  to  me  a  serious  one." 

"  Never  excuse  yourself,"  said  Heim,  taking  off  his  hat 
and  coat  in  the  hall ;  "  it  is  my  duty  to  aid  wherever  I 
can.  But,  in  Heaven's  name,  how  did  it  happen?  Where 
is  the  child  injured?" 

"  She  has  a  wound  in  her  head,  and  I  fear  the  skull  is 
fractured,"  replied  the  barber,  opening  the  door  of  the 
room  leading  to  Hartwich's  apartment.  The  Gehcim- 
rath heard  a  loud  sobbing  as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened. 
He  entered,  and  before  him  lay  the  invalid,  weeping  and 


52  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

wailing  like  a  maniac,  with  the  child  stretched  out  stiff 
and  corpse-like  upon  the  bed  ;  her  eyes  were  closed  and 
deep-sunk  in  their  large  sockets ;  her  pale  lips  were 
slightly  parted, — it  was  a  sorry  sight.  Hartwich  sup- 
ported her  bandaged  head  upon  his  arm,  and,  weeping 
loudly,  pressed  kiss  after  kiss  upon  her  white  brow. 

"  Ah,  Herr  Geheimrath  !"  he  shrieked,  "  come  here  1 
I  am  a  wicked,  miserable  father.  I  have  killed  my  child  1 
I  am  a  man  given  over  to  the  worst  of  all  vices, — drunk- 
enness ;  it  is  my  only  excuse.  Accuse  me  ;  have  me 
sent,  crippled  as  1  am,  to  jail, — I  care  not ;  but  bring  my 
child  to  life,  or  the  sting  of  conscience  will  drive  me 
mad  !" 

The  Geheimrath  took  the  passive  hand  of  the  child 
and  felt  the  pulse.  "  It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted  that 
your  conscience  was  not  as  active  before  the  deed  as  it 
appears  to  be  now  that  it  is  committed,"  he  said  coldly 
and  sternly,  as  he  removed  the  bandage  from  the  child's 
head. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  wailed  Hartwich,  shutting  his  eyes,  "  do  not 
do  that  here !  I  cannot  see  the  blood ;  I  cannot  see  the 
wound  ;  it  will  kill  me  !" 

"  What  !  you  could  make  the  wound  and  cannot  look 
at  it !"  said  the  Geheimrath  inexorably,  beginning  to 
probe  the  wound.  "  It  is  a  most  serious  case,"  he  said. 
"  Has  the  child  moved  at  all  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  oh,  heavens,  yes;  until  she  grew  so  rigid  !" 
gasped  Hartwich,  seizing  Ernestine's  hand  to  kiss  it. 
Then  he  looked  up  at  the  physician  in  mortal  terror. 
"  How  is  it  ?  must  she — oh,  Christ !  must  she  die  ?"  And 
again  he  broke  out  into  the  loud  childish  weeping  peculiar 
to  persons  unnerved  by  sickness  or  drink. 

"  Control  yourself,"  ordered  the  Geheimrath.  "  I  can- 
not come  to  any  decision  yet.  The  injury  to  the  skull  is 
not  fatal ;  what  the  effect  of  the  concussion  will  be,  I  can- 
not tell.  But,  with  the  child's  delicate  constitution " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Ah,  you  give  me  no  hope,"  moaned  Hartwich. 
"  Ernestine,  wake  up  !  only  look  once  at  your  father, 
your  cruel,  wicked  father  !  Ah,  Herr  Geheimrath,  I 
disliked  the  child  because  she  was  so  weak  and  ugly. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  53 

If  she  had  only  been,  a  fine,  healthy  girl,  I  might  perhaps 
have  been  reconciled  to  having  no  sou  ;  but  I  was  ashamed 
of  her,  and  silenced  the  voice  of  my  heart.  Oh,  these 
hands,  poor  little  hands,  and  these  pale,  thin  cheeks  ! 
— how  could  I  ever  strike  them  !  God  be  merciful  to  me, 
miserable  sinner  that  I  am !"  And  he  beat  his  breast 
fiercely. 

The  Geheimrath  looked  at  him  and  shook  his  head. 
"  Do  not  excite  yourself  so.  It  does  your  daughter  no 
good,  and  only  injures  yourself." 

"My  daughter!  my  daughter!"  repeated  Hartwich. 
"  Oh,  I  have  never  treated  her  as  such.  She  seemed  to 
me  a  changeling,  left  in  her  cradle  by  some  spiteful  witch 
in  place  of  the  boy  I  so  coveted.  Now,  when  I  am  in 
danger  of  losing  her,  I  feel  that  she  is  my  child 
indeed." 

"  The  truth  is  as  old  as  the  world,  that  nature  avenges 
the  transgression  of  the  least  of  her  laws,"  replied  the 
physician.  "  You  have  sinned  grievously  against  the 
mighty  law  of  paternal  affection,  and  now  it  demands  its 
rights  with  resistless  authority.  Let  me  entreat  you  to 
testify  your  repentance  by  the  tenderest  care  of  the  sick 
child,  and  permit  me  to  call  some  one  to  put  her  to  bed, 
— it  should  have  been  done  long  ago." 

"  Ah,  must  she  be  separated  from  me  ?"  moaned  Hart- 
wich. "  I  long  to  beg  her  forgiveness  when  she  comes 
to  herself." 

"  You  will  hardly  be  able  to  do  that  very  soon,"  said 
the  Geheimrath,  ringing  the  bell. 

Frau  Gedike  made  her  appearance,  as  gentle  and  sub- 
missive as  she  had  previously  been  harsh  and  overbear- 
ing to  Ernestine. 

"Assist  me  in  carrying  this  child  to  her  bed,"  said 
Heim,  carefully  placing  his  arm  beneath  the  rigid  little 
body  to  raise  it  up. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  of  you,  Herr  Geheimrath,  do  not  trouble 
yourself,"  cried  Frau  Gedike,  evidently  greatly  hum- 
bled. "  I  can  carry  the  poor  child  without  help." 

Heim  glanced  at  her  keenly,  and  then  quietly  directed 
her  to  show  him  the  way. 

5* 


54  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Frau  Gedike  ran  as  quickly  as  she  could  across  the 
hall  to  the  door  of  a  back  room.  "  Permit  me,"  she  said, 
and  tried  to  slip  past  the  Geheimrath  into  the  apart- 
ment. "  Excuse  me  for  one  moment,  that  I  may  put 
things  a  little  to  rights.  Everything  is  in  disorder,  J  rose 
so  early  this  morning." 

But  Heim  said  authoritatively,  "Follow  me!"  and 
stepped  past  her  into  the  chamber,  carrying  his  silent 
burden.  Here  he  stood  still  in  astonishment.  It  was  a 
kind  of  wash-room, — at  least  there  was  a  huge  pile  of  soiled 
linen  in  one  corner.  Broken  furniture  and  household 
utensils  were  scattered  about ;  there  were  no  curtains  to 
the  windows ;  hundreds  of  flies  were  buzzing  about  the 
dirty  panes;  the  air  of  the  close  room  was  stifling.  In 
one  corner  stood  a  child's  crib,  which  must  have  dated 
from  Ernestine's  fifth  or  sixth  year.  It  contained  an  old 
straw  bed,  a  dirty  pillow,  and  a  heavy,  tawdry  coverlet. 
Frau  Gedike  bustled  about,  endeavouring  to  conceal  as 
well  as  she  could  the  miserable  condition  of  the  room 
from  the  penetrating  eye  of  the  Geheimrath,  but  in 
vain. 

"Am  I  to  lay  the  wounded  child  in  this  bed  ?  Is  she 
to  be  nursed  in  this  hole  ?"  he  asked  in  a  tone  which 
boded  no  good  to  the  housekeeper. 

"  Gracious  me  ! — we  have  no  other  room  and  no  other 
bed.  I  have  often  pitied  the  dear  child,  but  Herr  Hart- 
wich  is  so  saving — he  never  buys  anything  new,"  she 
declared. 

The  Geheimrath  went  towards  a  half-open  door  lead- 
ing into  another  and  larger  apartment.  Here  the  air  was 
pure,  the  furniture  decent,  and  there  was  a  comfortable 
bed  in  the  corner. 

"  Is  this  your  room  ?"  asked  the  Geheimrath 
sharply. 

"  It  is,  Herr  Geheimrath.  It  is  just  as  my  prede- 
cessor left  it." 

"Make  up  the  bed  instantly  with  clean  linen." 
'Frau  Gedike  stared  in  surprise. 

"Instantly!"  repeated  the  Geheimrath,  in  a  way  that 
admitted  of  no  remonstrance,  and  seated  himself,  that  he 
might  more  conveniently  hold  his  poor  little  charge. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  55 

Frau  Gedike  brought  clean  sheets  and  made  up  the 
bed. 

"  Where  shall  I  sleep  ?"  she  asked  with  suppressed 
rage :  "  there  is  no  other  sleeping-room  in  the  whole 
house.!" 

"  You  can  try  Ernestine's  bed,  and  see  what  it  is  to 
lie  cramped  up  upon  a  rack!"  replied  the  old  gentle- 
man dryly.  Then  he  wrinkled  his  bushy  brows  sternly, 
and  continued :  "  I  doubt  whether  you  will  need  a  bed 
here,  for  I  will  do  my  best  to  have  you  leave  this  house 
before  night." 

"  Oh,  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me !  Herr  Gebeimrath, 
what  have  I  done  ?  What  fault  can  you  find  with  me  ?" 
whined  Frau  Gedike  as  she  smoothed  the  pillows. 

Heim  arose,  and,  as  he  laid  the  lifeless  little  body  care- 
fully upon  the  bed,  said  quietly,  "Look  at  the  room 
which  you  have  allowed  this  frail  child  to  occupy,  the 
bed  in  which  you  have  cramped  her  poor  little  limbs, 
and  then  say  whether  anybody  of  the  least  humanity 
could  fail  to  condemn  you !"  He  then  left  her,  and 
called  the  barber-surgeon  that  he  might  take  the  neces- 
sary steps  for  providing  careful  attendance  for  the 
child. 

Frau  Gedike  ran  out  crying,  and  the  Geheimrath  con- 
tinued to  provide  for  his  patient's  comfort  with  the  quiet 
decision  of  an  experienced  physician  and  the  gentleness 
of  a  tender-hearted  man. 

After  half  an  hour,  Ernestine  began  to  show  signs  of 
life ;  but  she  did  not  return  to  consciousness.  She  cast  a 
vague,  wandering  glance  around,  then  closed  her  eyes 
and  muttered  broken,  unintelligible  words.  At  last  she 
sank  anew  into  a  state  of  stupor  resembling  slumber. 
The  Geheimrath  left  the  surgeon  with  her  and  went  to 
Hartwich,  who,  in  the  mean  while,  had  been  visited  by 
Leuthold.  Leuthold  had  been  wakened  at  last  by  the 
unwonted  bustle  in  the  house,  and  had  stolen  from  his 
bed  to  see  if  his  brother  were  perhaps  dying, — a  piece  of 
news  which  would  have  been  a  grateful  morning  greet- 
ing to  his  wife.  He  was  disappointed.  The  only  comfort 
was  that  all  this  excitement  would  inevitably  accelerate 
Hartwich's  death  j  Ernestine's  fate  was  a  matter  of  per- 


56  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

feet  indifference  to  him,  but  he  was  greatly  disturbed  by 
the  intelligence  that  Heim  had  been  called  in.  He  could 
not  bear  the  man,  whose  presence  brought  out  clear  and 
distinct,  as  with  some  chemical  preparation,  the  stains 
upon  his  name  that  had  apparently  faded  away.  He  there- 
fore determined  to  leave  home  for  a  few  days,  in  order  to 
avoid  a  meeting  with  the  witness  of  his  disgrace;  but  he 
would  leave  his  wife  on  guard  in  the  lower  story,  under 
the  pretence  of  helping  to  nurse  Ernestine.  Her  pres- 
ence would  naturally  hinder  the  physician  from  saying 
anything  to  Hartwich  to  his,  Leuthold's,  detriment.  He 
slipped  up-stairs  to  bid  his  wife  arise  quickly ;  but  the  in- 
dolent woman  was  too  long  about  it  for  his  wishes  or 
his  plans. 

Scarcely  had  he  left  Hartwich  when  Heim  entered  the 
room.  "  What  news  do  you  bring  me  ?"  Hartwich  cried 
out. 

"  Nothing  hopeful  as  yet.  She  showed  signs  of  life 
when  we  applied  ice-bandages;  but  the  lethargy  into 
which  she'  fell  immediately  is  alarming.  I  cannot  give 
you  any  hope  before  the  end  of  three  days." 

Hartwich  struck  his  damp  forehead  in  despair.  "  It 
will  kill  me  !  it  will  kill  me  !" 

The  Geheimrath  seated  himself  by  his  bedside,  took 
a  pinch  of  snuff  from  a  golden  box  adorned  with  a 
miniature  of  the  king,  and  calmly  regarded  the  unhappy 
man.  "  Now  tell  me,  Herr  von  Hartwich,  how  it  all  oc- 
curred. I  should  like  to  know.  Besides  the  wound  on 
the  head,  the  child  has  bruises  on  her  shoulders  and  arms 
that  are  by  no  means  fresh.  She  seems  to  have  been 
most  cruelly  treated !" 

The  invalid  was  silent  for  awhile,  and  then  said,  "  Yes, 
— ah,  yes,  we  have  all  abused  her ;  but  God  knows  I 
never  intended  this  last  1  I  was  sound  asleep  yester- 
day evening  when  Ernestine  came  home  and  crept  in  to 
ine  here  and  waked  me  with  her  sobs." 

"  Poor  child  !  she  had  cause  to  weep,"  the  Geheimrath 
interrupted  him. 

"  Yes,  yes, — but  I  did  not  understand  that  yesterday. 
When  I  awoke,  I  was  thirsty,  and  sent  her  up  to  my 
brother  to  bring  me  a  little — a  little — a  few  drops " 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  57 

"  To  bring  you  liquor,"  the  Geheimratb  completed  the 
sentence. 

"Yes,  I  confess  it,"  Hartwich  continued;  "but  in  her 
uncle's  room  there  was  a  telescope,  and  she  looked  through 
it  and  forgot  her  father's  errand.  I  waited  and  waited, 
with  my  throat  on  fire,  but  she  did  not  come.  I  grew 
more  and  more  impatient;  and  when,  at  the  end  of  a  full 
half-hour,  she  came  down  without  what  I  had  sent  her 
for,  I  seized  hold  of  her  to  bsat  her ;  she  clung  to  my 
lame  arm  so  that  the  pain  made  me  wild, — and  in  my 
senseless  rage  I  flung  her  off  and  hurled  her  away  with 
my  healthy  arm; — may  it  be  crippled  forever!  She  fell 
backward,  and  struck  the  back  of  her  head  first  against 
the  marble  top  of  my  wash-stand, — you  can  see  the  blood 
there  still, — and  then  upon  the  floor,  where  she  lay  like 
one  dead.  Everything  grew  black  before  my  eyes,  as  it 
did  when  I  had  the  stroke.  I  rang  for  my  people ;  no 
one  came.  I  could  not  move, — could  not  leavje  my  bed  to 
go  to  the  child.  I  saw  her  blood  flow,  I  heard  her  gasp 
as  if  in  the  death-agony,  and  I  lay  here  a  miserable  crip- 
ple, thinking  that  I  had  killed  my  child.  Oh,  Herr  Ge- 
heimrath, at  such  a  time  our  inmost  selves  are  revealed 
to  us  ;  in  such  agony  one  learns  to  pray.  At  last,  after 
repeated  ringing  and  calling,  my  good-for-nothing  servants 
made  their  appearance.  Herr  Geheimrath,  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  I  felt  when  they  laid  the  child  upon  my  bed, — 
my  poor,  beaten  child.  As  the  little  bleeding  head  lay 
on  my  arm,  it  seemed  as  if  my  heart  opened  wide  with 
the  gaping  wound,  and,  for  the  first  time,  real,  warm,  pa- 
ternal affection  gushed  from  it.  Before,  when  I  chastised 
the  child,  she  was  all  defiance  and  stubbornness ;  then  I 
did  not  care  if  1  hurt  her ;  but  now,  as  she  lay  mute  and 
crushed  before  me,  she  spoke  to  me  in  a  language  that 
recalled  me  to  myself.  And,  Herr  Geheimrath,  I  have 
not  been  myself, — I  have  drunk  myself  down  to  the  level 
of  a  brute ;  and  the  poor  victim  of  my  fury  has  recalled 
me  from  my  degradation." 

The  Geheimrath  listened  to  the  speaker  with  growing 
sympathy.  When  he  had  finished,  he  took  his  hand.  "  You 
are  right,  Herr  von  Hartwich,  to  be  frank  with  me.  Mm 
who  are  not  evil  by  nature  can  best  excuse  their  evil  deeds 


58  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

by  frankness,  for  their  intentions  are  seldom  as  bad  as 
their  actions.  Compose  yourself, — your  condition  is  indeed 
worthy  of  compassion.  If  the  physician  might  be  allowed 
to  usurp  in  a  measure  the  confessor's  chair  at  such  a  time 
as  the  present,  I  would  say  for  your  consolation,  in  the 
event  of  the  worst  termination  to  the  child's  illness,  that 
your  irresponsible  condition,  which  rendered  you  incapa- 
ble of  appreciating  the  consequences  of  your  act,  and 
which  would  excuse  you  before  an  earthly  tribunal,  should 
have  some  weight  with  your  inward  judge.  Besides,  you 
have  certainly  acted  paternally  towards  the  child  in  one 
respect,"  he  added  with  significance.  "  You  have  accu- 
mulated a  fine  property  for  her.  That  will  enable  her  to 
occupy  such  a  position  in  the  world  as  will  make  her  life, 
if  it  is  spared,  a  happy  one." 

Hartwich  seized  Heim's  hand  and  whispered  quickly 
and  anxiously,  "  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  not  done  this; 
it  now  lies  heavy  on  my  soul  that  I  have  not  been  a 
father  to  the  child  in  any  way!" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Heim  with  apparent  sur- 
prise. "You  have  not  set  Ernestine  aside  in  favour  of 
another  ?" 

Hartwich  looked  anxiously  towards  the  door.  The  Ge- 
heimrath  understood  his  look,  and  opened  it, — no  listener 
was  near.  Hartwich  then  confessed  all  to  the  Geheimratb 
that  the  latter  already  knew.  Heim  shook  his  head.  "  It 
is  incredible  that  a  father  should  do  so  by  his  own  child  ; 
but,  now  that  your  sense  of  duty  is  aroused,  you  will  of 
course  atone  for  your  injustice?" 

"Ah,  Herr  Geheimrath,  if  I  only  could,  how  gladly 
would  I  do  so  !  If  my  poor  Ernestine  recovers,  I  would 
gladly  make  over  to  her  the  whole  estate  during  rny  life- 
time. Tell  me,  how  shall  I  begin  to  make  amends  ?  how 
shall  I  begin  to  atone  to  the  child  for  all  the  misery  I 
have  caused  her?  I  will  do  anything,  everything,  if  I 
only  can.  Assist  me,  advise  me  !" 

"I  think,"  began  the  Geheimrath  with  quiet  decision, 
"  that  the  case  is  very  simple.  You  can  make  a  new  will 
and  declare  the  other  void.  If  Ernestine  recovers,  it  is  very 
doubtful  whether  she  will  be  anything  more  than  a  poor, 
sickly  invalid  during  her  entire  lifetime.  Such  an  unfor- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  59 

tunate  being  needs  money, — a  great  deal  of  money ;  for 
sickness  is  an  expensive  affair.  The  child  was  naturally 
healthy.  She  has  been  weakened  by  neglect  and  harsh 
treatment.  You  left  her  to  a  worthless  housekeeper,  who 
denied  her  everything  that  a  child  should  have  in  order 
to  be  strong,  and  in  her  weakened  condition  you  have  dealt 
her  a  death-blow  from  which  she  can  hardly  recover.  You 
must  be  conscious  that,  since  you  have  almost  destroyed 
Ernestine's  life,  you  ought  at  least  to  provide  her  with 
the  means  of  making  her  invalid  existence  as  endurable 
as  possible,  and  indemnify  her  for  a  neglected  childhood 
by  every  enjoyment  that  wealth  can  procure." 

Again  Hartwich  broke  out  into  loud  lamentations. 
"Yes,  yes,  you  are  right, — you  are  a  man  of  honour,  Herr 
Gcheimrath.  But  how  can  I  set  aside  my  will  without 
encountering  Leuthold's  bitterest  hate  ?  Ah,  you  do  not 
know  what  a  dangerous  enemy  he  is." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  Heim  interrupted  him,  nodding  his 
head ;  "  he  is  a  bad  fellow ;  but  tell  me,  Herr  von  Hart- 
wich, what  do  you  fear  from  him  ?  Will  not  the  curse 
of  your  unfortunate  child,  if  she  lives,  be  harder  to  bear 
than  the  hate  of  such  a  miserable  wretch  as  your  step- 
brother?" 

Hartwich  writhed  and  turned  iii  his  bed.  "If  I  had 
only  sold  the  factory !  If  he  should  learn  that  I  had  dis- 
inherited him,  he  is  quite  capable  of  preventing  the  sale 
out  of  sheer  revenge,  ruining  the  whole  business  for 
me,  and  then  the  poor  child  would  be  deprived  of  half 
of  her  property  !" 

The  Geheimrath  held  his  snuff-box  in  one  hand,  clasped 
the  other  over  it,  and  looked  at  Hartwich  with  a  smile. 

"  If  that  is  why  you  hesitate,  there  is  no  cause  for  fear. 
The  factory  is  as  good  as  sold ;  for  Herr  Neuenstein,  the 
brother  of  the  Staatsriithin  Mollner,  is  most  anxious  to 
purchase  it  for  his  son,  who  is  a  chemist ; — he  knows 
your  brother,  and  would  easily  see  through  his  wiles. 
Besides,  Gleissert  need  know  nothing  about  it  for  the 
present.  Make  the  will  secretly.  I  will  give  you  pen  and 
ink  when  I  have  written  a  prescription  for  Ernestine. 
Send  your  housekeeper  off  immediately,  that  we  may 
have  no  spies  about ;  for  I  believe  her  to  be  capable  of 


60  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

any  treachery,  and  Ernestine  must  not  be  left  in  her 
charge.  This  afternoon  I  shall  come  again,  and  you  can 
put  the  document  into  my  hands,  where  it  will  be  safe. 
Well — how  does  the  plan  please  you?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Hartwich  passionately.  "That  is 
right.  That  I  can  do.  Ah,  it  is  all  that  is  left  for  me 
to  do  for  my  child,  and  it  shall  be  done.  Send  Gedike 
away, — get  me  pen,  ink,  and  paper, — it  must  not  be  de- 
layed an  hour  longer  than  is  necessary.  I  feel  I  may  die 
at  any  moment.  Remove  this  burden  from  my  soul,  and 
I  shall  die  more  peacefully!" 

Heim  went  instantly  to  procure  writing-materials,  for 
he  knew  better  than  the  invalid  himself  that  there  must 
be  no  delay  in  the  matter.  The  servants  brought  him 
what  he  wanted,  and  he  looked  in  upon  Ernestine  for  a 
moment,  while  the  surgeon  went  for  more  ice  for  the 
bandages.  She  was  lying  there  moaning  and  groan- 
ing restlessly.  He  looked  at  her  lovingly,  and  said  to 
himself,  "  Poor  child  !  There  are  better  days  in  store  for 
you."  Then  he  repaired  to  Frau  Gedike,  whom  he  in- 
formed of  her  dismissal,  and  appointed  Rieka,  the  elder 
of  the  maid-servants, — a  girl  whose  face  pleased  him, — 
Ernestine's  attendant. 

When  he  returned  to  Hartwich,  he  found  him  in  a 
state  of  great  excitement.  His  face  was  purple,  the  veins 
greatly  swollen. 

"Where  have  you  been  so  long?"  he  cried  out  as  the 
Geheimrath  entered.  "  I  was  in  agony  for  fear  I  should 
have  another  stroke.  I  felt  just  as  I  did  before  !  There, 
give  me  the  writing-materials — it  would  be  terrible  if  I 
were  to  die  now,  before  I  had  atoned  for  my  crime.  Pray 
help  me  up,  Herr  Geheimrath, — but  do  not  touch  my 
lame  arm, — oh,  this  pain  !  There,  there, — thank  you. 
Now  the  pen.  I  have  thought  it  all  over  while  you  were 
away.  I  will  arrange  it  so  that  he  cannot  say  I  broke 
rny  word  to  him,  and  he  cannot  harm  Ernestine  if  I  should 
die  shortly.  Ah,  air  ! — Herr  Geheimrath, — open  a  win- 
dow !  After  I  have  written — I  shall  be  easier.  Then 
my  mind  will  be  relieved." 

He  spoke  in  breathless  haste,  while  the  perspiration 
stood  in  beads  upon  his  forehead. 


OR  A   PIIYSrCIAX  FOR    THE  SOUL.  61 

"  Be  calm,  bo  calm  !"  said  the  Geheinmith  soothingly. 
"  You  arc  nut  going1  to  die  now,  but  you  v/ill  make  your- 
self ill  with  this  excitement." 

"Ah,  you  are  kind, — you  wish  to  console  me  ; — but  I 
feel  that  last  night  will  be  my  death — there  is  no  time  to 
lose  !" 

He  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink,  and  looked  towards  the 
door.  "  If  only  Leuthold  does  not  come, — all  is  lost  if  he 
does.  Bolt  it,  I  pray,  that  he  may  not  surprise  us.  Tell 
me,  will  it  not  be  best  to  make  him  Ernestine's  heir? 
Then  I  shall  not  be  quite  false  to  my  promise, — it  is,  alas, 
alas,  more  likely  that  the  poor  little  lamb  will  die  than 
that  she  will  recover ;  then  all  will  be  as  it  was,  and  the 
property  will  be  his, — and,  if  she  lives,  he  must  have  a 
good  legacy." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Geheimrath  good-humouredly, 
"give  the  fellow  what  you  think  you  owe  him.  But  re- 
member that  he  inherits  from  Ernestine  only  in  case  of 
her  dying  unmarried  ;  for  if  it  be  God's  will  that  she  lives, 
marries,  and  has  children,  you  must  not  deprive  those 
children  of  the  property.  That  might  make  her  very 
unhappy." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right, — I  will  insert  that  clause.  But 
the  guardianship, — what  do  you  think  ?  I  must  make 
Leuthold  her  guardian,  or  he  will  be  terribly  angry  !" 

The  Geheimrath  shook  his  head.  "  I  would  not  do 
that!" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Herr  Geheimratb.  It  would  look  too  ugly, 
and  the  child  will  be  in  no  kind  of  danger.  He  always 
liked  Ernestine,  and  stood  up  for  her ;  and  he  will  be 
afraid,  too,  not  to  fill  his  post  of  guardian  conscientiously, 
for  he  will  be  under  the  supervision  of  the  orphans'  court." 

"  Then  make  her  minority  as  short  as  possible.  For 
my  satisfaction,  have  it  expressly  stated  that  she  shall  be 
of  age  at  eighteen.  Such  precaution  is  necessary  with 
men  of  Gleissert's  stamp.  According  to  our  laws,  a  father 
can  declare  his  child  of  age  at  eighteen.  Her  property 
can  remain  in  the  orphans'  court  until  then,  when  it  can 
be  placed  at  her  own  disposal." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  agree  to  all  that, — then  it  is  all  settled  ! 
God  be  thanked !"  Hartwich  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  and 

6 


62  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

dipped  the  pea  in  the  ink.  But  scarcely  had  he  attempted 
the  first  stroke  when  he  dropped  the  pea  in  despair  and 
cried  out,  "Merciful  Heaven  !  I  cannot  form  a  letter  !" 

The  startled  Geheimrath  looked  at  the  paper.  The 
letters  were  entirely  illegible. 

For  one  moment  the  old  gentleman  lost  all  hope, — 
while  Hartwich  sobbed  and  groaned  like  a  child.  Was 
he  to  fail  thus,  just  when  the  goal  was  reached?  The 
Geheimrath  regarded  the  invalid  thoughtfully,  ponder- 
ing how  long  a  delay  his  condition  would  permit.  Then 
he  made  up  his  mind,  and  said  with  composure,  "  I  will 
arrange  it  all ;  do  not  be  at  all  anxious.  I  will  drive  to 
the  nearest  town  and  procure  the  services  of  a  couple  of 
lawyers,  and  you  shall  dictate  your  will.  I  will  be  back 
again  in  two  hours.  Tell  me  when  Leuthold  is  usqd  to 
be  away  from  home,  that  he  may  know  nothing  of  our 
plans." 

"  At  the  time'of  your  return  he  will  be  at  the  factory. 
If  you  go  on  foot  as  far  as  the  corner  of  the  wood,  he  will 
not  see  you.  Herr  Geheimrath,  you  are  a  true  man, — 
my  child's  benefactor  and  mine.  How  shall  I  ever  thank 
you  ?" 

"  There  is  no  need  of  thanks, — no  need  at  all !  I  am 
only  doing  my  duty  as  a  man  and  a  Christian."  And 
the  prudent  old  physician  concealed  the  writing-materials 
and  hurried  out. 

Hartwich  cast  his  blood-shot  eyes  upward  and  prayed, 
"  Let  me  live  until  it  is  complete,  O  God, — only  until 
then  !"  These  words  he  repeated  again  and  again,  while 
his  heart  beat  more  wildly  and  irregularly,  and  his  veins 
grew  blue  and  swollen.  It  was  the  mortal  agony  of  a 
doomed  wretch  who  feels  that  a  short  time  will  bring  him 
to  the  bar  of  an  inexorable  judge,  and  who  longs  to 
throw  off  at  least  a  part  of  his  burden  of  guilt.  Of  course 
such  anguish  would  hasten  his  death. 

Frau  Bertha  came  down  soon  after  the  Geheimrath's 
departure,  and  would  have  stayed  in  Ilartwich's  room, 
but  his  state  terrified  her.  She  saw  that  the  end  was  near, 
and  she  had  not  the  courage  to  look  on  at  the  death- 
agony.  In  her  heart  she  felt  herself  a  murderess,  because 
she  had  so  ardently  desired  his  death.  Indeed,  fate  often 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  63 

makes  us  by  our  silent  desires  accomplices  in  its  severity, 
and  we  are  stricken  with  vain  remorse  when  our  secret 
hostility  to  another  suddenly  takes  form  and  shape  in 
events.  (JVho  has  not  at  some  time  in  his  life  secretly 
nourished  a  selfish  desire,  and,  after  it  has  been  crushed 
down,  fervently  thanked  Heaven  for  not  cursing  him  with 
a  granted  prayer  ?  /Or,  if  the  evil  has  been  permitted; 
who  has  not  in  his  remorse  half  believed  that  his  secret 
desire  helped  to  work  the  mischief  that  has  been  done  ? 
Frau  Bertha's  perceptions  were  not  very  delicate.  She 
wished  for  Hartwich's  death  that  she  might  enjoy  his 
wealth,  and  thanked  Heaven  that  it  would  shortly  be 
hers ;  but  she  was  too  much  of  a  woman  not  to  shudder 
at  the  moment  of  the  fulfilment  of  her  evil  desires  and 
see  an  avenging  demon  in  Hartwich's  dying  form.  She 
resolved,  therefore,  to  disobey  her  lord  and  master,  and 
avoid  the  death-bed.  The  cogent  reasons  that  Leuthold 
had  for  enjoining  constant  watchfulness  she  could  not 
comprehend  ;  and  therefore,  as  soon  as  Leuthold  left  for 
the  factory,  she  betook  herself  to  her  apartments  again. 

Hartvvich  was  now  left  upon  his  burning  couch,  de- 
voured by  anxiety.  The  minutes  crept  slowly  on;  every 
quarter  of  an  hour,  news  of  Ernestine  was  brought  him  ; 
there  was  no  change  for  an  hour,  and  then  Rieka  came 
in  suddenly  and  cried,  "  Ah,  sir,  Ernestine  is  awake  and 
wants  some  book;  we  cannot  understand  what  one,  or 
what  she  means,  she  speaks  so  indistinctly,  and  what- 
ever we  get  her  is  wrong.  What  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"  Send  a  servant  into  town  to  buy  every  child's-book 
that  is  to  be  had, — let  her  want  for  nothing, — do  you 
hear  ?  for  nothing!  Has  she  not  mentioned  me?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  the  servant;  "  she  is  not  herself, — she 
is  continually  moaning  for  her  book  !" 

"  Then  get  her  what  she  wants,  as  quickly  as  possible, — 
only  be  quick !" 

The  servant  left  the  room,  and  the  sick  man  was  left 
to  his  brooding  thoughts  again.  It  worried  and  tor- 
mented him  that  Ernestine  would  have  to  wait  several 
hours  for  what  she  wanted.  In  a  few  moments  he  rang 
again  for  the  maid,  who  reiterated  that  the  child  was  still 
asking  for  her  book.  The  invalid  grew  still  more  restless, 


64  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

and  at  last  sent  for  the  surgeon,  who  was  still  with 
Ernestine. 

"  Lederer,"  he  called  out  upon  his  entrance,  "  bleed 
me  !  Don't  you  remember  how  much  good  it  did  me  ?" 

"  Not  for  worlds,  sir!"  said  Lederer.  "  I  could  not  do 
it  without  a  physician's  orders.  There  seems  no  reason 
at  all  at  present  for  such  an  extreme  remedy  !" 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  cried  Hartwich 
angrily.  "  I  tell  you  I  know  I  need  it.  There  is  a  per- 
fect hammering  going  on  inside  my  head.  You  must 
bleed  me,  or  I  shall  have  another  stroke  !" 

"  Ah,  sir,  believe  me,  you  are  needlessly  alarmed,"  said 
the  barber.  "  Have  some  compassion  upon  a  poor  man 
like  myself,  who  cannot  take  upon  himself  such  a  respon- 
sibility with  a  patient  of  your  importance.  I  would  gladly 
do  it  if  I  could !  Have  patience,  I  pray  you,  until  the 
Geheimrath  comes  back  !" 

"  You  are  a  miserable  coward  !"  screamed  Hartwich, 
foaming  with  rage. 

"For  Heaven's  sake  compose  yourself,  sir,"  the  terri- 
fied surgeon  interrupted  him  ;  "  I  will  obey  you,  but  I 
must  first  go  home  and  fetch  my  bandages.  Perhaps  by 
the  time  I  get  back  the  Geheimrath  will  be  here  !" 

"  Then  go,"  muttered  Hartwich,  who  already  repented 
his  violence,  which  he  feared  might  prove  an  injury  to 
him.  "But  first  lift  me  up  a  little.  Ah  !  if  I  could  only 
put  my  feet  out  of  bed  I  should  certainly  feel  easier. 
Try  if  you  cannot  lift  them  out;  take  out  the  lame  leg 
first — so — that's  right — oh,  it's  hard.  'Tis  better  to  have 
wooden  legs — they  can  be  unstrapped  and  taken  off — but 
to  have  to  drag  about  everywhere  a  dead,  useless  limb  is 
horrible!  'tis  a  dog's  life,  and  I  care  not  how  soon  it  is 
over,  but  not  just  yet — I  must  do  my  duty  first.  Now  go, 
Lederer,  and  come  back  soon." 

The  barber  had  helped  him  so  that  he  was  sitting  up- 
right in  bed,  with  his  lame  foot  upon  a  cushion,  lie 
looked  around  the  room,  and  noticed  Ernestine's  book 
upon  the  table.  "  What  is  that  ?"  he  asked.  Lederer 
handed  it  to  him.  He  turned  over  the  leaves,  and  his 
face  suddenly  brightened.  "  That  must  be  the  book  that 
Ernestine  is  asking  for — some  one  must  have  given  it  to 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  65 

her  yesterday  at  the  party.  Good  heavens  !  now  I  un- 
derstand why  the  poor  little  thing  crept  in  here  so  late 
last  night;  she  wanted  to  read  by  my  lamp!  Ah,  how 
dearly  she  paid  for  her  innocent  pleasure!  Go,  my  good 
Lederer,  and  take  the  book  to  the  child.  Tell  llieka  to 
come  and  let  me  know  what  she  says  to  it,  and  then  you 
will  get  the  bandages — will  you  not  ?" 

"  Most  certainly,  sir,  as  soon  as  possible  !"  said  Le- 
derer, and  hurried  away  with  the  book. 

A  clock  struck  nine.  Hartwich  sighed  profoundly. 
"  Only  nine.  Heim  cannot  come  for  an  hour  yet  The 
lawyers  will  need  time  for  preparation.  O  God-^-Thou 
wilt  not  punish  that  poor,  innocent  child  so  severely  as  to 
let  me  die  before  her  rights  are  secured — Thou  wilt  not !" 
He  tried  in  vain  to  fold  his  hands,  and  at  last  dropped 
them  wearily  upon  his  crippled  knees. 

Suddenly  he  imagined  that  his  right  hand  also  was 
stiffening.  His  incapacity  to  write  could  not  have 
resulted  merely  from  want  of  habit.  He  moved  his 
arm  up  and  down  to  try  it — whether  in  imagination  or 
reality,  it  certainly  felt  heavier.  It  was  notr  the  effect  .of 
gout,  as  was  the  case  with  his  left  hand ;  this  could  only 
proceed  from  an  effusion  of  blood  upon  the  brain.  Cold 
drops  of  moisture  stood  upon  his  forehead  ;  he  tried  to 
wipe  them  away  with  his  right  hand  ;  in  vain,  he  could 
not  lift  it  so  high.  Thus  he  sat  helpless  and  alone,  every 
limb  crippled.  He  thought  of  his  child's  thin,  white 
hands ;  how  blest  he  should  be  if  they  could  now  supply 
the  place  of  his  own  to  him,  wipe  his  damp  brow  and 
hand  him  refreshing  drink!  He  thought  how  for- 
saken and  alone  he  sat  there  awaiting  death,  and  that  it 
was  all  his  own  fault ;  and  again  he  sobbed  convulsively. 
Then  llieka  entered. 

"  Well,  was  that  the  right  one  ?"  asked  Hartwich. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"  Thank  Heaven  !     Did  she  not  mention  me  ?" 

"No,  sir:  she  said  nothing.  She  only  took  the  book 
and  kissed  it,  then  folded  it  in  her  arms  and  went  to  sleep 
again." 

"If  the  child  does  not  forgive  me  before  I  die,  I  shall 
have  no  rest  in  my  grave !"  moaned  Hartwich.  "  Rieka, 

6* 


66  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

I  am  losing  the  use  of  my  right  arm  too.     Look  at  me. 
Am  I  not  altered  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  you  always  look  just  as  purple!"  said  Rieka 
consolingly. 

"  Give  me  a  mirror  and  let  me  see  myself!" 

Rieka  handed  him  a  mirror,  and  he  looked  at  himself 
long  and  anxiously.  "  I  look  fearfully.  Can  you  not 
hear  how  indistinct  my  speech  is  ?" 

Rieka  put  away  the  mirror.  "  Oh,  your  tongue  is  al- 
ways heavy  when  you  have  been  drinking.  Don't  be 
worried  about  that." 

"I  have  not  drank  a  drop  to-day,  you  insolent  girl!" 
stammered  Hartwich  irritated.  "  Go  back  instantly,  and 
take  good  care  of  the  child,  or " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  shall  do  my  duty  without  threats,  but  I 
can't  mend  the  mischief  that  you  have  done  !"  And  she 
slammed  the  door  behind  her. 

"And  I  must  bear  this  from  an  ignorant  peasant!" 
wailed  Hartwicb.  "  How  they  will  abuse  me  to  my 
child,  if  she  recovers  !  Oh,  oh,  I  deserve  it  all ;  'tis 
wretched, — Wretched  !  But  I  must  be  calm.  I  must  not 
be  excited."  Thus  he  murmured,  with  trembling  lips, 
exerting  all  his  energy  to  repress  his  excitement,  and  to 
force  the  breath  regularly  from  his  laboring  breast. 

Again  the  clock  struck — ten  this  time. 

"  They  must  soon  be  here  now  1"  thought  Hartwich. 
"  If  I  can  only  keep  my  head  clear  !" 

The  wretched  man  in  his  anguish  now  exercised  his  men- 
tal faculties  in  every  way  that  he  could  devise,  repeating 
the  formula  which  he  had  composed  for  his  will  a  hundred 
times,  that  it  might  be  so  stamped  upon  his  mind  as  to  be 
forthcoming  even  in  his  last  moments. 

At  last  steps  were  heard  in  the  hall. 

"  It  is  Lederer  with  the  bandages,"  he  thought,  sud- 
denly remembering  his  desire  to  be  bled.  But  there  were 
several  people  there.  It  must  be  the  lawyers.  The  door 
opened.  "Ah,  thank  God!  thank  God!"  Hartwich 
stammered,  and  fainted. 

"  I  thought  so!"  cried  the  Gehcimralh.  "If  you  had 
only  bled  him,  or  at  least  remained  with  him  !"  he  contin- 
ued to  the  terrified  barber,  who  entered  at  the  same  time. 


OR   A    PHYSrcrAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  G7 

"Be  quick  now;  give  me  that  case;  bring  me  some  ice 
from  the  child's  room,"  he  ordered  ;  and,  while  he  spoke 
the  lancet  had  done  its  work,  and  the  dark  blood  was 
flowing  from  the  arm. 

"  Pray  be  ready,  gentlemen,"  he  said  as  he  was  band- 
aging the  arm  ;  "  I  believe  the  sick  man  will  come  to  him- 
self in  a  few  moments.  You  will  find  writing-materials 
there  in  the  corner." 

The  gentlemen  took  their  seats,  and  arranged  a  table 
for  writing  from  the  sick  man's  dictation.  The  surgeon 
brought  the  ice  ;  it  was  laid  upon  Hartwich's  head,  and, 
as  the  Geheimrath  had  prophesied,  he  soon  came  to  him- 
self. He  looked  around  him  with  astonishment.  "Am  I 
still  living?"  he  feebly  asked. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  Geheimrath,  cheer- 
fully ;  "  it  was  only  a  slight  attack." 

"  God  of  mercy,"  gasped  Hartwich,  "Thou  art  all  com- 
passion !  My  memory  is  still  perfect.  Are  the  lawyers 
here?" 

One  of  them  arose,  and  approached  the  bed. 

"  We  are  here,  Herr  von  Hartwich,  and  await  your 
directions." 

"  I  am  still  of  sound  mind, — indeed  I  am,"  Hartwich 
insisted  with  childlike  eagerness. 

"  The  intention  with  which  you  have  summoned  us 
would  certainly  not  indicate  the  contrary,"  said  the  law- 
yer gravely,  signing  to  his  companion  to  prepare  to 
write. 

"  And  I  declare  that  this  last  decision  of  mine  is  en- 
tirely my  own,"  Hartwich  continued. 

"  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  so.  I  should  far  rather 
suppose  that  your  previous  will  was  a  forced  one,"  the 
official  rejoined. 

"  Will  it  impair  the  authenticity  of  this  document  that 
I  am  unable  to  sign  it  ?  I  cannot,  unfortunately,  move 
iny  hand." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  These  two  gentlemen, 
Herr  Geheimrath  Heim  and  the  surgeon  Lederer,  will 
have  the  kindness  to  affix  their  signatures  as  witnesses, 
and  the  instrument  will  be  legally  correct.  If  you  are 
strong  enough  to  dictate  your  will,  there  is  nothing  now 
to  prevent  your  doing  so." 


68  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Oh,  yes!  oh,  yes  !"  gasped  Hartvvich,  as  the  Geheim- 
rath  supported  htm  ;  "  every  moment  is  precious." 

The  preliminary  sentences  were  written  at  Ilartwich's 
request.  The  Geheimrath  closed  the  door,  and  the 
dying  man  began  to  dictate  in  such  feverish  haste  that 
the  lawyer  was  obliged  to  entreat  him  to  speak  more 
slowly.  Some  irregularities  in  the  formula  were  arranged, 
and  the  will  was  completed  before  the  glimmering  spark 
oi' life  in  the  testator  was  extinguished.  Little  Ernestine 
was  made  heir  to  a  property  of  ninety  thousand  thalers. 
The  document  was  read  aloud  to  Hartwich,  and  the  Ge- 
heimrath and  Lederer  affixed  their  signatures  instead  of 
his  own. 

"  Now  I  can  die  !"  said  the  sick  man,  with  the  air  of  a 
released  captive ;  and  instantly  his  mental  and  physical 
powers  failed  him. 

"  Geheimrath  !"  he  faltered,  and  a  strange  smile  trans- 
figured his  countenance,  "  lay  the  will  upon  my  child's 
bed,  as  her — father's — last — farewell — thanks — thanks." 
And  his  eyelids  closed,  he  muttered  unintelligibly,  and  re- 
lapsed into  unconsciousness. 

The  Geheimrath  nodded  to  the  lawyers,  and  said,  "  It 
was  hiafh  time !" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    SAD   SURVIVORS. 

THE  next  day,  at  about  the  same  hour,  Frau  Bertha 
was  in  her  kitchen,  beating  whites  of  eggs  for  a  cake,  her 
round  cheeks  shaking  merrily  with  the  exercise.  She  had 
sent  her  maid  into  the  garden  with  Gretchen,  and  was 
supplying  the  maid's  place.  She  turned  the  bowl  upside 
down,  to  convince  herself  that  the  eggs  were  sullic-iently 
beaten :  not  a  drop  fell, — they  were  all  right  She  set  thorn 
aside  with  an  air  of  great  satisfaction,  and  turned  to  n  bug 
beneath  the  table,  whence  issued  a  melancholy  flapping 
and  cooing.  A  white  dove  poked  its  head  out  of  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  69 

mouth  of  the  bag,  and  Bertha  thrust  it  back  again,  se- 
curing the  opening  more  tightly.  A  pot  of  water  on  the 
fire  boiled  over  with  a  loud  hissing,  and  she  hastened  to 
roll  up  her  sleeves  over  her  large,  well-formed  arms,  and 
lift  the  heavy  vessel  from  the  glowing  coals.  She  was  a 
beautiful  sight,  as  the  glare  from  the  fire  illuminated  her 
massive  proportions ;  as  she  moved  hither  and  thither, 
now  arranging  her  various  cooking-utensils,  now  open- 
ing the  door  beneath  the  oven,  to  thrust  in  huge  pieces  of 
wood,  hastily  picking  up  and  tossing  back  the  bits  of  burn- 
ing coal  that  fell  out,  she  might  have  been  Frau  Venus,  the 
coarse  Frau  Venus  of  the  popular  German  imagination, 
fresh  from  the  infernal  regions  in  the  Plorselberg,  who, 
clad  in  a  kitchen  apron,  was  here  in  the  likeness  of  a 
cook-maid  to  seduce  the  calm,  cold-blooded  Dr.  Gleissert 
by  the  magic  charms  of  her  cookery.  She  tossed  a  net 
full  of  crabs  into  a  pot  of  cold  water,  and  looked  thought- 
lessly on  at  their  slow  death  over  the  fire.  She  never 
dreamed 'that  just  at  that  moment  a  human  life  was 
leaving  its  mortal  tenement  beneath  her  roof,  and  when, 
a  few  minutes  later,  she  was  pounding  ingredients  in  her 
huge  mortar,  that  the  noise  she  was  making  was  the 
death-knell  of  a  departing  soul.  She  did  not  hear  her 
husband's  approach  until  he  stood  before  her,  and  seiz- 
ing her  by  the  arm,  said  breathlessly,  "  Wife,  this  is  our 
last  day  of  torment !" 

Frau  Bertha  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  that  was  only 
half  joy,  painted  upon  her  heated  face.  "  I  have  never 
seen  you  so  delighted  before,  except  when  you  were  ex- 
amining those  odd  fishes  at  Trieste  ;  what  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

"  Can  you  not  guess  ?"  asked  Leuthold. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?» 

"  He  is ;  he  has  been  dying  for  the  last  twenty-four 
hours." 

"  Thank  Heaven  !"  said  Frau  Bertha,  folding  her  plump 
hands. 

"  And  if  I  believed  in  Heaven  I  should  say  so  too," 
rejoined  Leuthold,  throwing  himself  upon  a  kitchen  chair. 
"Only  conceive  of  the  joy!  We  are  wealthy,  —  inde- 
pendent,— delivered  from  our  ten  years'  servitude, — de- 


70  ONLY  A   OIRL; 

livered — ah"!"  He  fanned  himself  with  the  pocket-hand- 
kerchief that  he  had  just  used  at  the  bedside  of  Hart- 
wich's  corpse  to  dry  the  tears  that  he  did  not  shed. 

In  spite  of  her  good  fortune,  Frau  Bertha  looked  un- 
comfortable. "  I  am  almost  sorry  he  has  gone,"  she  said 
timidly.  "  It  seems  to  me  a  sin  to  rejoice  so  at  any  one's 
death, — he  might  appear  to  us." 

"  Don't  talk  such  nonsense  ;  you  know  I  cannot  endure 
it,"  said  Leuthold  angrily.  "  You  behave  as  if  we  had 
killed  him.  Wishes  are  neither  poison  nor  steel ;  and  we 
are  not  rejoicing  at  his  death,  but  at  our  inheritance.  It 
is  but  human." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Bertha,  comforted,  "you  are  quite 
right.  If  we  could  have  had  the  money  while  he  lived, 
we  should  not  have  wanted  him  to  die  ;  he  might  have 
lived  for  a  hundred  years  for  all  I  would  have  cared.  It 
was  his  own  fault  that  we  wished  him  dead.  Why  did 
he  keep  us  so  pinched  ?" 

Leuthold  nodded  approvingly.  "  I  see  you  are  willing 
to  listen  to  reason  ;  now  have  the  kindness  to  come  down- 
stairs with  me  and  pay  the  proper  respect  to  the  body." 

"  What  must  I  do  that  for  ?"  asked  Bertha,  alarmed. 

"  Because  it  is  becoming!  I  have  instructed  you  suf- 
ficiently upon  this  point ;  you  know  my  wishes — come  !" 

These  words,  that  cut  like  a  knife  in  their  utterance, 
made  opposition  useless.  Bertha  took  her  casseroles  from 
the  fire,  looked  after  the  doves  in  the  bag,  and  followed 
her  husband  down  stairs.  On  the  way  she  asked  him, 
"  What  shall  I  say  when  we  get  there  ?" 

"  Not  much,"  said  Leuthold  dryly.  "  There  is  not 
much  to  be  said  in  such  stiff,  silent  society, — a  couple  of 
oh's  and  ah's  will  suffice  ;  it  is  very  graceful  in  a  woman 
to  fall  upon  her  knees  by  the  bedside ;  but  if  you  should 
attempt  it,  pray  restrain  your  usual  impetuosity,  or  the 
repose  even  of  the  dead  might  be  disturbed." 

"  You  are  a  fearful  man,"  whispered  Bertha.  "  I  am 
actually  afraid  of  you.  Will  you  make  such  joking 
speeches  when  I  die  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  outlive  you,  my  good  Bertha,"  said  Leu- 
thold, plaintively.  "  If  I  should,  be  assured  I  will  mourn 
for  you  as  the  nurseling  for  his  nurse !" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  1\ 

Frau  Bertha  looked  doubtfully  at  her  husband.  She 
scarcely  knew  what  to  make  of  this  tender  asseveration, 
and  she  said  nothing.  They  had  reached  the  door  of 
Ilartwich's  apartment. 

"  Where  is  your  handkerchief — your  pocket-handker- 
chief?" Leuthold  asked  softly.  Bertha  sought  it  in  vain; 
she  had  forgotten  it.  "  How  thoughtless,"  whispered 
Leuthold,  "  to  forget  your  handkerchief  under  such  cir- 
cumstances !" 

"  Then  give  me  yours,"  said  Bertha  • 

"  You  fool !  I  want  it  for  myself.  Take  your  apron  ; 
put  that  up  to  your  eyes — so  !"  With  these  words  he 
opened  the  door  and  entered  slowly,  pushing  Bertha  be- 
fore him.  Hartwich  lay  extended  upon  the  bed,  his  face 
so  changed  that  Bertha  was  glad  to  be  able  to  hide  her 
eyes  in  her  apron.  Leuthold  stood  beside  her,  a  picture 
of  dignified  manly  grief;  his  bearing  impressed  the  by- 
standers ;  the  surgeon,  the  men-  and  maid-servants,  who 
were  all  present,  were  convinced  that  Herr  Gleissert  had 
really  loved  his  step-brother,  and  that  it  was  rank  injus- 
tice to  accuse  him  of  heartlessness  After  a  few  moments, 
he  laid  his  hand  gently  upon  his  wife's  shoulder,  but  its 
stern  pressure  reminded  her  that  she  was  to  fall  upon  her 
knees.  She  sank  down  as  carefully  as  she  could,  and 
with  her  broad  back  and  bending  head  was  a  beautiful 
and  moving  image  of  woe.  After  awhile  he  bent  over 
her  and  said  gently,  "  Come,  my  child,  do  not  be  so 
agitated ;  our  tears  cannot  bring  him  back  to  life — come  !" 
Then  he  raised  her,  leaned  her  head  upon  his  breast  to 
conceal  her  face,  and  conducted  her  from  the  room.  The 
others  looked  after  them  with  amazement. 

"  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  the  surgeon.  "Every 
one  knows  that  the  woman  never  could  endure  Herr  von 
Hartwich,  and  yet  now  she  seems  almost  dead  with 
grief!" 

"She  isn't  really  sorry,"  growled  a  groom  ;  "it's  all 
sham  !" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Rieka  added,  "  she  didn't  shed  a  tear, — not 
a  single  tear,  for  all  she  rubbed  her  eyes  so  with  her 
apron !" 

"That's  true, — she  is  right,"  murmured  the  group; 


72  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  neither  he  nor  she  shed  a  single  tear.  Well,  there's  a 
pair  of  them.  Do  they  suppose  we  are  so  stupid  as  not 
to  see  how  glad  they  are  that  the  master  is  dead  ?  'Tis 
a  pity  that  the  money  will  not  fall  into  better  hands." 

Then  they  separated,  and  went  indifferently  about  their 
work. 

"  That  was  not  so  bad,"  said  Leuthold,  when  he  had 
reached  his  own- room  with  Bertha;  "but  still  you  cer- 
tainly have  no  genius  for  the  stage." 

"  You  ought  to  be  glad  that  I  can  never  play  a  part 
before  you,"  she  said,  shaking1  herself  as  if  to  shake  off 
the  disagreeable  impression  of  what  she  had  seen  like 
dust  from  her  clothes. 

In  the  mean  time  the  maid  had  brought  the  child  in 
from  the  garden,  and  had  laid  the  table. 

"We  will  have  some  champagne  to-day,"  said  Leu- 
thold, taking  down  the  keys  of  the  cellar.  "  We  need 
something  to  support  us  under  such  exciting  circum- 
stances. Send  Lena  for  some  ice."  And  he  left  the 
room. 

Frau  Bertha  sent  the  girl  for  ice,  and  said  to  herself 
with  complacency,  "  That  ice-house  was  the  best  thing  I 
ever  planned." 

The  little  girl,  who  was  too  fat  and  chubby  to  move 
very  steadily,  had  crept  under  the  table,  and  now,  catch- 
ing hold  of  the  corner  of  the  table-cloth,  tried  to  lift  her- 
self by  it,  thereby  pulling  down  a  couple  of  plates  and 
knives  upon  the  floor.  Bertha  caught  up  the  screaming 
child,  gave  it  two  or  three  hard  slaps,  saying,  "  Now  you 
know  what  you  are  crying  for,"  and  then  carried  it  to 
and  fro  to  quiet  it,  well  knowing  that  her  strict  husband 
would  not  endure  any  noise.  .  Gretchen  ceased  crying 
just  as  her  father  entered  with  the  champagne.  Lena 
brought  the  ice,  and  the  bottles  were  arranged  in  it. 
When  the  husband  and  wife  were  seated  at  table,  Bertha 
had  the  fragments  of  the  broken  plates  cleared  away. 
"  Oh,  heavens  !"  she  muttered,  "  nothing  but  bad  signs. 
If  our  fortune  should  be  destroyed  like  that  china  !" 

"  You  unmitigated  fool  !"  scolded  her  husband ;  "  if 
everything  that  we  desire  were  only  as  secure  as  our 
legally  devised  inheritance,  Gretchen's  future  husband 


OR  A   PUYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  73 

would  be  now  tumbling  about  in  a  royal  nursery,  and 
there  would  be  a  French  cook  in  our  kitchen." 

"  Oh,  then,"  Bertha  interrupted  him  with  irritation, 
"you  are  not  satisfied  with  my  cooking, — you  want  a 
Frenchman." 

"  Only  a  Frenchman  could  supply  your  place,"  replied 
her  husband,  quite  ready  to  practise  himself  in  the  deli- 
cate flattery  which  he  intended  to  make  use  of  in  future 
towards  ladies  in  aristocratic  circles.  He  kissed  her 
hand  and  said,  "I  would  not  have  these  rosy  fingers  any 
longer  degraded  by  contact  with  the  rude  utensils  of 
cookery.  Let  all  that  be  left  to  the  hard,  rough  hands 
of  some  skilful  gastronome." 

Fran  Bertha  stared  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  can  gastronomes  cook  ?" 

"  Most  certainly, — what  else  should  they  do  ?" 

"  I  thought  they  looked  at  the  stars  through  glasses  !" 

Leuthold  clasped  his  hands  in  dismay,  and  cast  a  look 
towards  heaven.  "  Good  heavens  !  when  I  think  of  your 
making  such  a  speech  among  our  future  friends,  I  am  so 
profoundly  humiliated  that  I  could  almost  determine  to 
make  over  my  property  to  some  religious  institution — 
some  monastery — and  enroll  myself  among  its  members. 
Woman,  woman,  must  I  teach  you  the  difference  between 
gastronomy,  the  science  of  cookery,  and  astronomy,  the 
science  of  the  stars  ?" 

"  Gastronomy  or  astronomy  !"  said  Bertha  pettishly,  as 
she  ladled  out  the  soup,  "  it  is  a  great  deal  better  for 
me  to  understand  cooking  than  the  long  names  you  call 
it.  Would  you  have  liked,  during  all  the  ten  years  that 
you  were  too  poor  to  keep  a  regular  cook,  to  have  a  wife 
who  could  talk  Latin  with  you,  but  whose  dinners  a  dog 
could  not  have  eaten  ?" 

"  No,  no,  indeed,  my  dear  Bertha  1"  said  her  husband 
with  a  shudder;  "but  the  two  can  be  united  if  you  try. 
I  do  not  ask  you  either  to  study  Greek  and  Latin,  or  to 
resign  your  masterly  supervision  of  our  kitchen  depart- 
ment ;  but  you  have  hitherto  performed  many  little  house- 
hold offices,  that  could  as  well  have  been  left  to  the 
servant,  because  you  had  no  pleasanter  way  of  occupying 

7 


74  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

your  time.  This  must  be  otherwise  now  ;  hitherto  you 
have  had  the  ex'cuse  of  our  straitened  circumstances  that 
Lave  compelled  you  sometimes  to  discharge  a  servant's 
duties.  Now  there  will  be  no  such  excuse ;  for  you  will 
have  a  suitable  household  in  tow*n,  and  time  to  cultivate 
your  mind  and  render  yourself  a  worthy  member  of  the 
society  to  which  I  shall  introduce  you." 

Bertha  in  her  impatience  let  her  spoon  fall  into  the 
soup-plate,  and  then  wreaked  her  irritation  upon  the  soup, 
which  she  poured  hastily  back  into  the  tureen. 

"  If  you  should  do  such  a  thing  as  that  before  stran- 
gers," said  her  husband  angrily,  "you  would  stamp 
yourself  as  a  person  of  no  refinement,  and  I  should  be 
disgraced." 

Bertha  brought  her  hand  down  upon  the  table  so 
heavily  that  the  glasses  rang  again.  "  This  is  really  too 
much!  Can  I  no  longer  eat  as  I  please?  As  long  as 
you  were  poor,  and  I  spent  my  little  all  in  procuring  deli- 
cacies for  you,  you  found  me  all  very  well,  and  had  plenty 
of  fine  words  for  me  ;  but  now,  that  you  are  rich  and  I 
have  nothing  left,  I  am  not  good  enough  for  you,  and  you 
take  quite  another  tone  with  me.  Heaven  help  me  ! 
There  is  no  more  pleasure  in  store  for  me.  I  really  be- 
lieve you  would  send  me  out  of  the  house  if  I  should  not 
succeed  in  pleasing  you.  Oh,  if  I  had  only  known!" 

She  was  silent,  because  Lena  appeared  with  the  roast; 
but  a  couple  of  large  tears  dropped  into  the  soup-plate 
which  she  handed  to  the  servant. 

"  What  exaggerated  nonsense  !"  said  Leuthold  at  last. 
"  Be  good  enough  to  carve  the  meat, — I  am  hungry.  You 
know  I  am  a  respectable  man, — slow  to  adopt  harsh 
measures  if  they  can  be  avoided.  I  hope  you  will  not 
force  me  to  them  by  stubborn  conduct.  You  will  re- 
cognize and  fulfil  the  duties  which  our  wealth  imposes 
upon  us." 

"  Duties,  duties  ?  I  thought  that  when  1  was  rich  I 
could  begin  really  to  enjoy  life  and  do  as  I  pleased ; 
but  instead  of  that  I  must  wear  a  double  face  and  worry 
about  everything.  It  is  just  as  if  you  gave  me  a  new 
sofa  in  the  place  of  the  old  one,  but  forbade  me  to  lie 
down  upon  it  for  fear  of  injuring  the  cover.  Of  course 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  75 

I  should  long  for  the  old  one,  upon  which  I  could  stretch 
myself  in  comfort  whenever  I  chose." 

Leuthold  smiled.  "  You  are  not  forbidden  to  lie  down 
upon  the  new  sofa.  I  only  ask  you  to  take  off  your 
muddy  boots  when  you  do  so  Do  you  understand?" 

Bertha  was  so  far  consoled  that  she  applied  herself  to 
devouring  the  food  upon  her  plate  in  silence.  Her  hus- 
band regarded  her  with  a  strange  mixture  of  humour 
and  discontent. 

"  You  must  at  least  learn  to  bold  your  fork  in  your  left 
hand,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Mercy!"  exclaimed  Bertha  again.  "What  matter  is 
it  about  such  a  trifle  ?" 

"  A  great  deal  of  matter,  my  dear.  Such  trifles  show 
refinement,  just  as  the  mercury  in  the  thermometer  shows 
the  degree  of  heat  and  cold.  If  you  lay  your  knife  aside 
and  clutch  your  fork  in  your  right  hand  like  a  pitchfork, 
every  one  of  any  culture  will  say, '  That  woman  is  a  person 
of  no  refinement.  She  has  not  been  used  to  good  society.' 
I  grant  it  is  insignificant  in  itself  and  ridiculous  to  every 
thinking  man;  but  it  serves  a  certain  purpose.  Such 
forms  are  marks  of  distinction  between  cultivated  and 
uncultivated  people.  Just  because  they  are  so  insignifi- 
cant the  uninitiated  never  pay  any  heed  to  them.  But, 
although  clad  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  ignorance  of  such 
trifles  betrays  the  parvenu.  Those  who  desire,  like  your- 
self, to  enter  circles  to  which  they  do  not  belong  by  birth, 
must  find  out  all  their  conventional  secrets,  in  order  not 
to  be  disgraced." 

"  Oh,  what  a  moral  discourse  !"  sighed  Bertha.  "  I  have 
had  enough  for  to-day.  You  are  a  thoroughly  heartless 
man,  and  were  kind  to  me  only  as  long  as  you  needed 
me.  I  must  bear  what  comes,  for  I  am  poor  and  helpless 
since  I  broke  with  my  father, — but  you  have  tired  me 
out,  I  assure  you." 

"And  if  this  fatigue  were  an  overpowering  sensation, 
you  would  separate  yourself  from  me;  but  since  you  are 
fond  of  the  rest  that  I  can  provide  you,  there  will  be  an 
enduring  bond  between  us.  I  shall  magnanimously  treat 
you  as  my  wife  as  long  as  you  give  me  no  legal  ground 
for  divorce;  therefore,  be  composed;  your  future  lot  is  a 


76  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

thousand  times  more  brilliant  than  you  had  any  right  to 
expect." 

Bertha  arose,  and  was  about  to  reply,  but  her  husband 
commanded  silence  by  so  imperious  a  gesture  that  she 
swallowed  down  her  anger  and  hastened  from  the  room, 
sobbing  violently.  In  the  kitchen  the  maid  was  just 
taking  the  cake  that  she  had  made  from  the  oven.  It 
was  successful — it  was  most  beautiful!  The  servant 
placed  it  near  the  open  window  to  cool.  Bertha  contem- 
plated it  mournfully.  How  much  pains  she  had  taken  ! 
how  stiff  the  eggs  had  been  beaten  !  how  well  it  bad 
risen  !  and  no  one  cared  anything  about  it  1  Did  her 
cross  husband  deserve  that  she  should  prepare  such  a 
delicacy  for  him  ?  Should  he  devour  this  masterpiece  ? 
Yet  there  it  was, — so  round  and  high,  so  brown  and  fra- 
grant, that  she  gradually  dried  her  tears,  and  was  filled 
with  more  agreeable  sensations  and  a  pardonable  pride. 
No  one  except  herself  possessed  the  receipt  for  this  cake. 
No  one  else  could  make  it.  She  thought  with  rapture  of 
the  delight  of  those  who  should  in  future  partake  of  it  at 
her  table, — of  the  consideration  that  she  should  enjoy  on 
account  of  it;  and,  thinking  thus,  her  good  humour  re- 
turned, and  she  determined  not  to  hide  her  light  under  a 
bushel,  and  punish  her  husband  by  withholding  the  cake 
from  him,  but  to  parade  it  before  him  ;  he  should  see 
what  a  woman  be  had  treated  so  unkindly  could  do.  When 
he  tasted  this  cake  he  would  repent  his  harshness!  She 
took  the  plate  and  carried  it  on  high  into  the  dining-room, 
where  she  placed  it  before  her  husband  with  exultation. 

"Yes,  that  is  really  beautiful,"  he  said  approvingly, 
looking  first  at  the  round,  beautiful  cake,  and  then  at 
the  plump,  pretty  baker ;  and  his  approbation  exalted 
Bertha  to  the  highest  pitch  of  satisfaction,  so  that  she 
felt  morally  justified  in  asking  for  a  glass  of  champagne. 
Her  husband  removed  the  cork  without  allowing  it  to 
snap  and  disturb  the  decorum  of  the  house  of  mourning, 
and  then  poured  out  a  sparkling  bumper  for  her. 

"Come, "she  said,  "we  will  clink  glasses,  and  drink  to 
the  welfare  of  the  good  Hartwich,  who  has  made  us 
rich  I" 

"Yes,  now  that  he  is  dead,  may  he  live  forever,"  said 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  77 

Leuthold  smiling,  and  gently  touching  his  wife's  glass 
with  his  own, — "  live  forever  in  that  heaven  where  I  trust 
he  may  experience  all  the  delight  that  his  wealth  will 
afford  us  here  on  earth." 

They  emptied  their  glasses,  and  Bertha  ran  into  the 
adjoining  room,  where  Gretchen  was  taking  her  noonday 
nap.  She  snatched  the  sleeping  child  from  the  bed,  shook 
it,  and  cried,  "Come,  wake  up,  and  you  shall  have  some 
cake!" 

The  little  thing,  interrupted  in  its  nap,  was  frightened 
and  began  to  scream,  refusing  to  be  quieted  until  her 
father  rilled  her  mouth  with  the  promised  delicacy  and 
dandled  her  in  his  arms. 

"  You  do  not  even  understand  how  to  take  care  of  your 
own  child,"  murmured  Leuthold.  "  What  will  you  do 
when  our  niece  comes  to  us?" 

"What!"  cried  Bertha,  "must  I  have  the  care  of  the 
disagreeable  creature  ?" 

"  She  will  come  to  me — yes." 

"But  we  will  send  her  to  boarding-school  —  you 
promised  me  !" 

"  If  Ernestine  recovers,  as  she  may  do  under  old  Heim's 
care,  she  will  be  too  weak  for  months  to  be  sent  among 
strangers  without  incurring  the  reproach  of  the  world. 
You  will  l>e  obliged,  therefore,  to  submit  to  having  her 
with  us  until  such  time  as  we  can  be  rid  of  her  decently. 
I  assure  you  she  shall  stay  no  longer  than  is  absolutely 
necessary.  And  now  pray  be  quiet,  and  do  not  embitter 
this  day  by  complaints." 

Frau  Bertha  looked  utterly  discomfited.  She  deter- 
mined that,  at  all  events,  Ernestine  should  never  partake 
of  the  delicacies  which  she  alone  knew  how  to  prepare. 
Coarse  natures  always  seek  for  a  scape-goat  upon  whom 
to  wreak  their  irritation  ;  and,  as  she  did  not  dare  to  make 
her  husband  serve  this  purpose,  her  choice  fell  upon  Ernes- 
tine. 

Leuthold,  who  was  not  used  to  see  his  wife  lost  in  a 
reverie,  softly  touched  her  shoulder.  "Come;  it  really 
looks  almost  as  if  you  were  thinking  of  something,"  he 
said  dryly. 

"Yes ;  I  am  thinking  of  something,"  she  replied  signi- 
7* 


78  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

ficantly.  "  I  am  thinking  of  the  dog's  life  I  shall  lead  as 
long  as  that  sickly,  ailing  brat  is  under  our  roof,  and  no 
one  will  reward  me  for  my  pains." 

She  stopped,  for  Gretchen  had  grown  restless,  and  re- 
quired all  her  attention,  and  Leuthold  evidently  refused 
to  give  any  heed  to  her  complaints,  but,  as  dinner  was  over, 
folded  his  napkin  and  rose  from  the  table.  "  I  must 
write  the  notice  of  his  death — it  is  high  time  it  were  at- 
tended to,"  he  said,  while  he  washed  his  hands  in  the  ad- 
joining room.  "Sew  a  piece  of  crape  around  my  hat  " 
He  re-entered  the  room,  and  sat  down  at  his  writing-table. 
Bertha  placed  a  candle  and  a  cup  of  cafe  noir  upon  it. 
He  lighted  a  cigar,  which  he  smoked  as  he  wrote,  sipping 
his  coffee  comfortably  from  time  to  time.  The  servant 
removed  the  dinner-table ;  Gretchen  amused  herself  on 
the  floor  with  some  paper,  which  she  tore  into  a  thousand 
fragments,  to  make  a  mimic  snow-storm;  and  Bertha  tried 
on  before  the  mirror  several  articles  of  mourning-apparel, 
which  she  had  had  in  readiness  for  some  time.  She  was 
delighted,  for  black  was  very  becoming  to  her. 

Peace  and  comfort  reigned  in  the  apartment.  Leuthold 
emptied  his  cup  and  laid  aside  his  pen.  "There — that  is 
most  touching  and  suitable.  Read  it."  He  handed 
Bertha  what  he  had  written,  and  she  read: 

"It  has  pleased  Almighty  God  to  release  our  beloved 
father,  brother,  and  brother-in-law,  Herr  Carl  Emil  von 
Ilartwich,  landholder  and  manufacturer,  from  his  pro- 
tracted sufferings,  and  to  transport  him  to  a  better  world. 
He  died  this  day,  at  twelve  M.  Those  who  were  ac- 
quainted with  the  deceased,  and  with  his  active  benevo- 
lence, will  know  how  profound  must  be  our  sorrow,  and 
accord  us  their  sympathy. 

"  THE  SAD  SURVIVORS. 

"  UNKENHEIJI,  24  July,  18 — ." 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL. 


CHAPTER  V. 

UNDECEIVED. 

ERNESTINE  was  still  lying  motionless  in  Frau  Gedike's 
huge  bed,  and  by  her  side  sat  a  little  nurse  scarcely  three 
feet  high,  swinging  her  short  legs,  and  thinking  how 
charming  it  must  be  to  lie  in  such  a  great  big  bed,  just 
like  a  grown  person,  and  what  a  pity  it  was  that  poor 
Ernestine  slept  so  much,  that  she  could  not  enjoy  the 
pleasure.  Now  and  then  she  turned  her  fair  head  round 
towards  the  window  behind  her,  through  the  white  cur- 
tains of  which  she  could  see  a  dark  procession  moving 
away  from  the  house  towards  the  village.  When  it  had 
disappeared  from  sight,  she  gave  a  little  sigh,  and  swung 
her  feet  rather  more  violently  than  before, — although  she 
sat  very  upright,  with  great  dignity  of  demeanour,  for 
she  was  entirely  conscious  of  the  weighty  responsibility 
of  her  post.  She  had  been  intrusted  with  the  charge  of 
watching  Ernestine  while  the  servants  were  attending 
the  funeral  services  performed  over  [lartwich's  corpse. 
When  they  were  concluded,  and  the  funeral  procession 
had  left  the  house,  Rieka  had  begged  the  little  child  to 
keep  her  place  until  the  gentlemen  returned  from  the 
church-yard,  in  order  that  the  maid  might  perform  certain 
necessary  household  duties.  Angelika — for  she  it  was — 
undertook  the  charge  with  delight.  She  had  given  her 
uncle  Neuenstein,  who  had  determined  to  pay  the  last 
honours  to  Hartwich's  remains,  no  peace  until  he  con- 
sented to  take  her  to  Ernestine.  True,  she  soon  acknowl- 
edged to  herself  that  she  had  never,  in  her  whole  long 
life  of  eight  years,  seen  any  place  so  tiresome  as  this  quiet 
room,  where  nothing  was  heard  but  the  buzzing  of  a 
couple  of  flies  around  a  spoon  in  which  a  drop  or  two 
of  Ernestine's  medicine  had  been  left ;  but  she  was  not  dis- 
contented ;  she  sat  as  still  as  a  mouse,  so  that  she  might 


80  ONLY  A    OIRL; 

not  disturb  the  invalid,  and  did  not  even  venture  to  look 
at  her,  for  she  had  heard  that  sleepers  could  be  awakened 
by  a  look.  Only  now  and  then  she  cast  a  wistful  glance 
at  the  pretty  book  that  was  clasped  tight  in  Ernestine's 
embrace.  Suddenly  the  sick  child  muttered,  "  I  am  lying 
turned  round  the  wrong  way  in  bed."  Angelika  scrambled 
down  in  alarm  from  her  high  seat,  and  ran  to  the  door 
and  cried,  "Rieka,  Ernestine  is  saying  something!" 

The  maid  hurried  in,  and  Ernestine  moved  uneasily, 
and  insisted  that  she  was  lying  with  her  head  towards 
the  foot  of  the  bed.  At  last  Rieka  remembered  that 
Ernestine's  crib  had  been  placed  against  the  opposite 
wall,  and  suspected  that  she  missed  the  old  position. 
Rightly  judging  this  to  be  a  favourable  sign,  she  quickly 
and  carefully  turned  the  child  around  in  the  bed ;  and 
when  Ernestine  stretched  out  her  hand  and  encountered 
the  wall,  where  she  had  been  accustomed  to  find  it.  she 
seemed  satisfied,  and  apparently  fell  asleep  again.  Then 
Rieka  left  the  room  to  finish  her  work;  but,  after  a  few 
moments,  Ernestine  opened  her  eyes,  in  which  for  the 
first  time  shone  the  light  of  intelligence,  and  looked 
around.  "Angelika!"  she  said  in  amazement,  and  then 
stared  around  the  room.  "Why,  this  is  Frau  Gedike's 
room  !  and  what  a  large,  soft  bed  !" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Angelika  delightedly  replied.  "Isn't 
it  comfortable  ?  Ah,  you  poor  dear  Ernestine,  are  you 
beginning  to  grow  a  little  better?  Is  your  head  mended 
again  ?" 

Ernestine  put  up  her  hand  to  her  bandaged  head. 
"What  is  this?" 

"  You  broke  your  head.  Oh,  it  was  terrible,  I  know 
from  my  dolls, — although  it  doesn't  hurt  them,  and  you 
can  put  on  new  heads ;  but  they  couldn't  do  that  for  you, 
and  they  said  you  must  die;  but  you  haven't  died  !" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Ernestine,  recollecting  herself;  "  now 
I  remember ;  last  night  my  father  struck  me  and  threw 
me  down.  Yes,  it  hurt  very  much  !" 

"  It  was  not  last  night,  it  was  several  days  ago ;  but 
you  slept  the  whole  time,  and  didn't  you  know  that  they 
cut  off  your  hair?"  asked  Angelika,  running  to  the  ward- 
robe and  producing  a  thick  bunch  of  long  black  hair. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  81 

"  Look,  here  it  is, — there  is  some  blood  on  it  still,  but,  if 
you  will  only  give  it  to  me,  I  will  wash  it  and  make  my 
large  walking  doll  a  splendid  wig  of  it.  Do,  do  give  it 
to  me,  you  can't  make  it  grow  on  your  head  again." 

"I'll  give  it  to  you  willingly,'1  said  Ernestine;  "but 
first  ask  Frau  Gedike  whether  you  may  keep  it." 

"  Oh,  she  is  not  here  any  more, — Uncle  Heim  sent  her 
away  !"  replied  Angelika,  drawing  the  dark  strands  slowly 
through  her  fingers. 

"  Then  ask  my  father." 

This  answer  utterly  discomfited  Angelika.  "I  cannot 
ask  your  father,"  she  said  in  a  disappointed  tone,  putting 
the  hair  away  regretfully.  "  He  is  dead  I  They  put  him 
in  the  hearse  a  little  while  ago, — I  saw  them." 

"Oh,"  said  Ernestine,  startled,  "is  he  dead?  Why, 
why  did  he  die  just  now  ?" 

"  I  think  because  he  was  so  angry  with  you,"  said 
Angelika  with  an  air  of  great  wisdom.  "  Don't  you 
know  when  I  am  naughty  mamma  shuts  me  up  in  a  dark 
room  ?  and,  because  your  father  was  a  great  deal  naughtier 
than  I,  God  has  shut  him  up  in  a  dark  hole  in  the  ground, 
and  he  must  stay  there  always." 

"Ah,  for  my  sake,  the  dear  God  should  not  have  done 
that,  for  my  sake!"  said  Ernestine,  bursting  into  tears. 
"  Now  I  have  no  father  any  more  ;  I  have  nobody  ;  I  am 
all  alone  in  the  world  !  My  poor  father  1  it  is  all  my  fault 
that  he  is  put  into  the  narrow  grave,  where  the  worms 
will  eat  him  and  there  will  be  nothing  left  of  him  but 
bones.  Oh,  how  horrible  !  how  horrible  !  I  saw  a  skele- 
ton once  in  a  picture,  and  my  poor,  poor  father  will  look 
just  like  that !"  And  she  wrung  her  thin  hands  and 
writhed  about  in  the  bed,  moaning  loudly. 

Angelika  was  in  despair  at  the  mischief  she  had  done. 
She  had  quite  forgotten  that  she  had  been  forbidden,  if 
Ernestine  should  awake,  to  speak  to  her  of  her  father. 
In  the  greatest  distress  she  walked  to  and  fro  beside  the 
high  bed,  and  at  last  brought  a  tall  stool,  from  which, 
when  she  had  mounted  it,  she  could  reach  Ernestine.  She 
kissed  her,  she  stroked  her  cheeks,  and  laid  her  chubby 
hand  upon  her  mouth  to  silence  her,  but  in  vain.  At  last 
t-'.he  hit  upon  the  idea  of  showing  her  the  book  that  lay 


82  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

beside  her.  She  opened  it  at  a  picture  and  held  it  up 
before  her,  saying,  "  Look,  dear  Ernestine,  only  look  at 
your  beautiful  book  !"  The  sick  child  instantly  brushed 
the  tears  from  her  eyes  when  she  saw  the  picture 

"  The  swan  !"  she  cried,  "  the  swan  !  that  is  the  story 
of  the  Ugly  Duckling!"  She  hastily  took  the  book  out  of 
Angelika's  hands  and  turned  over  the  leaves.  Gradually 
the  fairy  figures  of  the  snow-queen,  the  little  mermaid, 
and  the  -rest,  obliterated  the  horrible  image  of  her  dead 
father,  and  his  narrow  grave  faded  away  to  give  place  to 
the  shining  garden  of  Paradise,  and  the  clear,  broad  sea 
with  the  fairy  palaces  beneath  its  crystal  waves.  Her 
sobs  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  at  last  a  smile  played 
around  her  lips  when  she  came  to  the  story  of  the  dryad 
''Elder  Blossom." 

"Now  I  know  what  a  dryad  is,"  she  said.  "I  am 
glad,  I  am  very  glad  1" 

"  What  is  it  that  makes  you  so  glad  ?" 

"  That  a  dryad  is  nothing  bad,  for — don't  you  know  ? — 
he  called  me  that.  I  thought  it  was  to  mock  me,  and  it  hurt 
me,  but  it  was  not  so." 

"He?  who?" 

"  I  don't  know  his  name,  your  brother,  who  gave  me 
the  book." 

"  Johannes  ?"  laughed  Angelika.  "  Do  you  like  him  ?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,  he  is  so  handsome  and  good,  just  like 
the  prince  in  the  Little  Mermaid."  With  these  words  a 
light  shone  in  the  child's  dark  eyes.  "  I  would  far  rather 
have  turned  into  foam  than  done  anything  to  hurt  him,  if 
I  had  been  the  mermaid." 

"  That  is  charming  !  that  is  splendid  !"  Angelika  de- 
clared with  delight;  "  we  both  love  him!  He  is  such 
a  dear  brother.  It  is  a  pity  he  has  gone  away.  If  he 
were  at  home  he  would  come  and  play  with  you  ;  oh,  he 
plays  so  finely  !" 

"  Has  he  gone  away?"  asked  Ernestine  sadly. 

"  Yes,  he  has  gone  to  Paris  to  get  me  a  wax  doll ;  only 
think  ! — one  that  can  call  '  Papa'  and  '  Mamma.'  " 

"  Oh,  there  cannot  be  such  dolls  !"  said  Ernestine  with 
a  troubled  look. 

"  Indeed  there  are.  and  when  she  comes  I  will  show  her 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  83 

to  you.     Remember  the  doll  in  '  Ole  Luckoie  ;'  she  could 
speak,  and  had  a  fine  wedding." 

"But  that  isn't  a  true  story."  said  Ernestine  wisely, 
putting  her  hand  to  her  head,  which  was  beginning  to  ache 
badly. 

"  Only  think  what  a  charming  thing  it  is  to  have  a 
wedding,"  Angelika  ran  on.  "  I  once  went  to  a  real  wed- 
ding, and  it  was  almost  finer  than  the  one  in  the  story. 
Oh,  the  bride  has  a  lovely  time  1  Why,  she  sits  j^ust  in  the 
middle  of  the  table,  and  in  front  of  her  is  a  great,  tall  cake, 
with  a  little  house  on  top  of  it  and  a  little  man  inside,  a  little 
bit  of  a  man,  with  a  bow  and  arrows,  but  no  clothes  on  at 
all.  She  has  the  biggest  piece  of  cake,  and  they  put  the 
dear  little  man  upon  her  plate,  and  she  is  helped  first 
to  everything.  I  was  really  vexed  with  my  cousin  for 
eating  hardly  anything.  And  only  think,  last  of  all  came 
ice-cream  doves  sitting  in  a  nest  made  of  sugar,  upon 
eggs  of  marchpane!  They  looked  so  natural  that  I  was 
too  sorry  when  my  cousin  cut  off  one  of  their  heads  ;  I 
could  have  cried,  and  I  determined  not  to  eat  any  of  it, 
but  by  the  time  it  came  to  me,  every  one  could  see  that 
it  was  not  a  real  dove,  for  it  was  all  melting  away,  and 
you  had  to  eat  it  with  a  spoon.  And  there  were  quanti- 
ties of  champagne,  and  all  the  gentlemen  made  long 
speeches  to  the  bride,  and  you  had  to  sit  perfectly  still 
and  not  rattle  your  spoon  at  all  while  they  were  talking, 
but  when  they  had  done  you  could  scream  as  loud  as 
you  pleased,  and  clatter  your  glasses,  and  the  more  noise 
you  made  the  better ;  and  all  were  pleased  and  kissed 
one  another ;  only  my  cousin  sat  there  so  stupidly  and 
cried.  I  wouldn't  have  cried  when  everything  was 
done  to  please  me.  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  when  my 
brother  comes  back  he  must  bring  you  a  boy  doll  with  a 
hat  and  waistcoat,  and  then  he  shall  marry  my  doll.  He 
will  come  in  six  months,  but  that  must  be  a  long  time;  for 
mamma  cried  when  he  went  away.  Perhaps  we  shall  be 
grown  up  by  then,  and  can  make  our  dolls'  clothes  our- 
selves. That  would  be  lovely." 

"But  we  shall  not  be  grown  up  in  six  months,"  said 
Ernestine.  "  First  winter  must  come,  and  then  summer 
again,  and  then  winter  and  summer  again,  before  we  are 
grown  up  !" 


84  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  That  is  terribly  long,"  cried  Angelika.  "  I  don't  see 
how  we  can  wait  so  long." 

"  And  when  we  are  grown  up  we  cannot  play  with 
dolls.  Then  I  shall  buy  myself  a  telescope  like  Uncle 
Leuthold's,  and  always  be  looking  into  the  moon,  for  I 
like  it  better  than  anything." 

"  Into  the  moon  ?  Have  you  ever  looked  into  the 
moon  ?"  asked  Angelika  in  amazement. 

"  Indeed  I  have." 

"  How  does  it  look  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  beautiful,  most  beautiful !  It  shines  and  gleams 
so  silvery,  and  it,  is  so  calm  and  quiet,  and  there  are 
mountains  and  valleys  there  just  like  ours,  only  they  are 
not  coloured,  they  are  just  pure  light !" 

"  Did  you  see  the  man  in  the  moon  ?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  see  him ;  Uncle  Leuthold  said  there  are 
no  people  in  the  moon  ;  but  I  don't  believe  him.  They 
are  only  so  far  off  that  we  can't  see  them.  And  they 
must  be  much  happier  and  better  than  we  are  here  ;  I'm 
sure  they  never  beat  children  ;  and  who  knows  whether 
perhaps  the  dear  God  himself  does  not  live  there?  If  I 
could  fly,  I  would  fly  up  there  !"  And  she  gazed  upward 
with  beaming  eyes,  and  a  long  sigh  escaped  from  her 
little  breast. 

"  No,  dear  Ernestine,  you  must  not  fly  away  ;  no  one 
can  tell  that  the  moon  is  as  lovely  near  to,  as  it  is  so  far 
off.  And  it  is  very  nice  here,  too,  for  when  you  grow 
up  you  can  be  either  a  mamma  or  an  aunt,  and  then  no 
one  can  do  anything  to  you.  No  one  ever  strikes  my  aunt 
or  my  mamma — no  one!" 

But  Ernestine  was  no  longer  conscious  of  the  child's 
prattle  ;  her  eyes  closed,  her  beloved  book  dropped  from 
her  hands ;  Ole  Luckoie,  the  gentle  Northern  god  of  slum- 
ber, had  arisen  from  its  pages.  He  had  poured  balm 
into  her  painful  wound,  and  extended  his  canopy,  with 
its  thousands  of  gay  pictures,  over  her  soul. 

Angelika  looked  at  her  for  awhile,  and  then  asked, 
"Are  you  asleep  again?"  and,  upon  receiving  no  an- 
swer, she  was  quite  content,  and  got  softly  down  from 
the  high  stool,  and  sealed  herself  again  upon  her  chair 
with  the  grave  air  of  a  sentinel.  At  last  Heim,  with 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN-  FOR   THE  SOUL.  85 

Herr  Neuenstein,  came  home  from  the  funeral,  and  the 
two  gentlemen  entered  the  apartment  together. 

"  She  has  been  talking  with  me,"  Angelika  announced. 

"  What!  has  she  come  to  herself?"  asked  the  Geheim- 
rath  in  pleased  surprise. 

"  Oh,  yes, — we  talked  about  a  great  many  things — and 
then  she  went  to  sleep  again." 

The  Geheimrath  rubbed  his  hands. — "That's  good! 
Did  she  seem  to  be  perfectly  sensible  ?" 

"Oh,  yes;  she  was  perfectly  sensible,"  Angelika  as- 
sured him. 

"  What  a  pity  that  I  was  not  here  !  Now  I  hope  we 
shall  bring  her  through,"  said  the  Geheimrath  to  Herr 
Neuenstein ;  but  the  latter  stood  looking  at  the  corpse- 
like  figure  of  the  sleeping  child,  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  see,"  continued  the  physician,  "  that  it  seems  im- 
possible to  you,  and  yet  I  believe  she  will  recover.  Who 
that  sees  such  a  faded  blossom  lying  there  would  suspect 
the  wonderful  recuperative  energy  hidden  within  it?  And 
I  tell  you  this  child  possesses  an  immense  amount  of 
vitality,  or  she  would  have  succumbed  to  such  brutal 
treatment  as  she  has  received.  She  will  recover;  believe 
me,  she  will  recover." 

"  I  should  rejoice  indeed  to  think  that  your  exertions 
will  not  prove  in  vain.  And  you  really  wish  to  take  her 
with  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  her  hypocritical  uncle  will  let  her  go,  I  will 
deliver  her  from  his  claws,  and  educate  her  as  is  best  for 
her  health  and  becoming  to  her  position  as  an  heiress." 

"You  are  a  genuine  philanthropist,  Geheimrath." 

"Yes,  I  am  a  philanthropist;  but  there  is  small  merit 
in  that.  ^JSome  people  love  puppies  and  kittens,  others 
cultivate  flowers  with  enthusiasm, — I  love  to  educate  and 
train  human  beings.  Whenever  a  pair  of  melancholy 
eyes  stare  out  at  me  from  a  child's  face,  I  want  to  stick 
the  child  in  my  herbarium  like  a  rare  flower.  Yes,  if  it 
only  cost  as  little  to  cultivate  children  as  plants,  1  should 
have  had  a  human  hot-house  long  ago.  But  the  taste  is 
so  confoundedly  expensive." 

"  Yes,  we  all  know  that  you  spend  your  whole  income 
8 


86  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

in  such  good  works.  You  might  have  been  a  million- 
aire long  ago,  if  it  had  not  been  for  your  lavish  gener- 
osity." 

"  What  would  you  have  ?  One  man  wastes  his  money 
upon  one  whim,  and  another  on  another.  This  happens 
to  be  my  whim,  and  I  spend  just  as  much  upon  it  as  I 
can  conscientiously  in  the  interest  of  my  adopted  son, 
who  stands  nearest  my  heart.  But  now  do  me  the  kind- 
ness to  leave  the  room,  for  our  talk  is  disturbing  the 
child's  sleep.  I  will  stay  here  for  an  hour  and  watch 
her." 

"  Come,  Angelika,"  said  Neuenstein :  "  Uncle  Heim  is 
very  cross  to-day, — let  us  go  home."  He  took  the  child's 
hand,  and  nodded  affectionately  to  Heim.  "  Shall  I  send 
the  carriage  for  you?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you ;  I  must  return  to  the  capital ;  the 
king  has  commanded  my  attendance  this  afternoon.  But 
I  shall  be  here  again  to-morrow." 

"Adieu,  dear  uncle,"  said  little  Angelika,  standing  on 
tiptoe,  and  holding  up  her  rosy  lips  to  be  kissed.  "  You 
won't  be  cross  to  me,  will  you  ?"  she  asked,  nestling  her 
fair  curls  among  his  gray  locks  as  he  bent  down  to. her; 
"I  have  been  so  good!"  And  then  she  went  softly  out 
with  Herr  Neuenstein. 

When  Heim  was  alone,  he  sat  down  by  the  bedside, 
and  silently  contemplated  the  sleeping  child.  "  I'll  wager," 
he  thought,  "that  she  will  be  very  beautiful  one  of 
these  days.  Her  face  is  older  than  her  years,  and  that  is 
always  ugly  in  a  child,  but  when  her  age  accords  with 
the  earnestness  of  that  brow,  and  her  features  lose  their 
sharpness  under  more  kindly  treatment,  it  will  be  a  mag- 
nificent head.  To  think  of  having  such  a  child  and 
beating  it  half  to  death  !  Such  a  child  1'' 

Something  like  a  tear  glistened  in  the  old  man's  eyes, 
and  he  softly  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  to  compose  himself, 
for  these  thoughts  filled  him  with  the  pain  of  an  old 
wound,  and  well-nigh  overcame  him.  But  the  pinch  was 
of  no  avail.  He  gazed  upon  the  treasure  before  him, 
which  had  fallen  to  one  utterly  unworthy  such  a  gift, 
who  had  neglected  and  despised  it,  and  he  thought  what 
joy  its  possession  would  have  given  him.  And  he  re- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  8Y 

membered  that  such  joy  might  have  been  his,  had  his 
heart  not  clung-  unalterably  to  one  who  was  not  destined 
for  him.  Now  it  was  too  late;  and  the  past,  in  which  he 
might  have  sown  the  harvest  of  love  that  he  longed 
to  reap,  was  irrevocable.  The  passion  that  had  so  long 
filled  his  heart  was  conquered  and  dead  ;  but  the  long- 
ing for  affection,  that  is  stronger  than  passion,  still  lived 
on  in  the  old  man's  breast.  "  When  a  man's  wife  dies 
and  leaves  him,"  he  thought,  "she  lives  again  in  her 
children ;  but  he  who  has  neither  wife  nor  child  is 
doubly  poor."  He  had  watched  over  many  human  lives, 
but  not  one  could  he  call  his  own ;  he  had  preserved  the 
lives  of  many,  be  had  given  life  to  none.  He  had  seen 
the  bitterest  woes  soothed  by  affection,  and  he  should  die 
without  leaving  one  child  behind  to  mourn  his  loss.  And, 
lost  in  such  thoughts,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  ac- 
tually lying  upon  his  death-bed,  and  that  he  felt  a  soft  arm 
stealing  around  his  neck,  and  heard  a  sweet,  caressing 
voice  sob  out,  "  Father." 

It  was  Ole  Luckoie  who  had  granted  him  this  bitter- 
sweet dream  by  Ernestine's  bedside;  it  vanished  as 
quickly  as  it  had  appeared,  and  left  nothing  behind  but  a 
tear  on  the  old  man's  furrowed  cheek. 

Then  the  latch  of  the  door  began  to  tremble,  as  though 
a  carriage  were  driving  by,  and  the  heavy  footsteps  that 
caused  the  noise  approached  the  apartment.  Before  the 
Qeheimrath  could  prevent  it,  the  door  was  flung  open, 
and  Bertha's  colossal  figure  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  new  shining  black  silk,  and  the  stiff 
cambric  lining  rustled  so  loudly  as  she  approached  the 
bed  that  the  child  started  up  frightened,  and  the  Geheim- 
rath  could  not  suppress  an  exclamation!. 

"Good-morning,  Herr  Geheimrath ;  good-morning, 
Tina,"  she  said  with  a  nod.  "  So,  Tina,  you're  alive 
still,  I  see.  There  was  no  need  of  such  a  great  fuss 
about  you,  after  all." 

Ernestine,  at  this  rude  greeting,  flung  herself  to  the 
farther  side  of  the  bed,  and  cried,  "Oh,  send  my  aunt 
away  ! — I  do  not  want  to  see  her.  I  Avill  not !" 

The  Geheimrath  politely  offered  his  arm  to  the  in- 
truder and  conducted  her  from  the  room  without  a  word. 


88  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Bertha,  amazed,  asked,  "  Why,  what  have  I  done  ?    Can't 
I  see  my  niece  ?" 

"  If  you  yourself  do  not  understand,  madam,  that  this 
frail  life  needs  to  be  treated  with  the  greatest  possible 
tenderness,  I,  a  physician,  must  tell  you  that  it  will  be 
your  fault  if  my  care  of  the  child  should  prove  of  no  avail 
and  she  should  die  in  spite  of  it.  I  must  therefore  entreat 
you  either  to  discontinue  your  visits  to  the  child,  or  to 
address  her  more  gently." 

'  "  Why,  goodness  gracious  !"  cried  Bertha,  "  I  was 
only  in  jest.  Mercy  on  me  !  you  may  wrap  her  up  in 
cotton-wool,  for  all  I  care." 

The  Geheimrath  gave  an  involuntary  sigh.  "  Poor 
child,"  he  thought,  "to  be  in  danger  of  falling  into  such 
hands!" 

Suddenly  the  hall-door  was  opened,  and  a  face  ap- 
peared, so  ashy  pale,  so  livid,  that  Bertha  started  in  ter- 
ror. It  was  Leuthold ;  but  he  was  hardly  to  be  recog- 
nized. When  he  perceived  the  Geheimrath,  he  saluted 
him  with  his  usual  courtesy,  then,  extending  his  hand  to 
Bertha,  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  My  dear  Bertha,  be  kind 
enough  to  come  up-stairs  with  me." 

She  followed  him  in  the  greatest  trepidation,  for  she 
had  never  before  beheld  him  thus  ;  and  on  the  joyful  day 
of  Hartwich's  funeral,  too  !  What  could  have  happened  ? 
He  took  her  hand  and  conducted  her  up  the  staircase, 
his  fingers  were  as  cold  and  clammy  as  those  of  a  corpse. 
She  almost  shuddered  as  they  walked  along  together  in 
such  solemn  silence. 

They  reached  the  door  of  their  own  apartment.  Leu- 
thold entered,  dragged  his  wife  in  after  him,  closed  the 
door,  and,  before  she  was  aware  of  what  he  was  doing, 
she  felt  the  icy  hand  around  her  throat  like  an  iron  band. 

"  Shall  I  strangle  you  ?"  he  gasped,  with  eyes  like  a 
serpent's  when  it  is  wound  around  its  victim. 

"  Merciful  Heaven  !"  shrieked  Bertha,  falling  upon  her 
knees  to  extricate  herself.  The  cold  hand  grasped  her 
throat  still  more  tightly. 

"  Utter  one  sound  that  the  servants  can  hear,  and  I 
will  throttle  you!"  hissed  Leuthold.  "Be  quiet!  or — 
Bertha  ceased  struggling,  and  almost  lost  her  conscious- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  89 

ness.     He  then  released  her  and  pushed  her  down  upon 
the  sofa,  where  she  sat  utterly  astounded. 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  then  whispered, 
almost  inaudibly,  as  though  speaking  with  the  greatest 
difficulty,  "On  the  day  of  Ernestine's  fall,  when  Heim 
came  to  the  house,  do  you  remember  that  I  strictly  en- 
joined it  upon  you  to  observe  narrowly  whatever  occurred 
in  the  house  ?" 

"  Yes,"  stammered  the  frightened  woman. 

"Did  you  do  it?" 

No  answer. 

"You  did  not  do  it." 

"  I  was  so  afraid  of  Hartwich  that  I  Sfcent  up-stairs 
again,"  Bertha  confessed  with  hesitation. 

"And  so, — "  Leutbold's  chest  heaved,  his  breath 
came  heavily,  and  he  clenched  his  hands  convulsively, 
"and  so  it  is  your  fault  that  Hartwich  has  disinherited 
us  and  left  all  his  property  to  Ernestine."  His  face  grew 
still  paler,  his  slender  figure  tottered,  he  grasped  at  a 
chair  for  support,  and  fell  fainting  upon  the  ground. 

"  Good  God  !"  shrieked  Bertha,  shaking  the  prostrate 
man  violently,  "  the  whole  property  ?  tell  me,  the  whole 
property?  Oh,  you  miserable  man,  what  folly  to  fall 
into  such  spasms  !  Speak,  and  tell  me  whether  we  have 
nothing  at  all,  or  what  we  have !" 

Leuthold  slowly  raised  his  head.  Bertha  carried, 
more  than  supported,  him  to  the  sofa.  She  brought  some 
eau-de-cologne  and  poured  it  over  his  head  so  that  it  ran 
into  his  eyes.  He  uttered  an  exclamation  of  pain,  and 
tried  to  wipe  away  the  burning  fluid  from  his  eyes. 
"Are  you  trying  to  deprive  me  of  my  eyesight?"  he 
groaned,  and,  when  the  pain  was  relieved,  he  sat  in  a 
dejected  attitude,  staring  into  vacancy. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  speak  !"  cried  Bertha.  "  You  can, 
at  least,  open  your  mouth.  No  legacy  ?  Not  an  an- 
nuity?" 

Leuthold  looked  at  his  unfeeling  wife  with  an  ex- 
pression that,  in  spite  of  herself,  drove  the  blood  to  her 
cheeks.  There  was  something  indescribable  in  the  look, 
— a  mixture  of  the  pity  and  contempt  with  which  one 
contemplates  the  body  of  a  suicide. 

8* 


90  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  An  annuity  of  six  hundred  thalers,"  he  murmured, 
and  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  as  if  to  shut  out 
everything  around  him  while  he  collected  his  scattered 
senses. 

"  Too  much  to  die  upon,  and  too  little  to  live  upon  !" 
moaned  Bertha,  and,  bursting  into  tears,  she  threw  her- 
self upon  a  chair  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room. 
Leuthold  sat  motionless  for  a  long  time,  his  face  hidden 
in  his  hands ;  he  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe.  He  ap- 
peared to  need  all  his  physical  strength  to  assist  him  to 
endure  the  mental  agony  which  was  overpowering  him, — 
to  have  no  strength  left  to  stir  a  limb.  The  man  of  feel- 
ing tries  to  master  his  unhappiness  by  raging  and  lament- 
ing,— he  combats  his  agony  by  physical  exertion, — he 
rushes  hither  and  thither,  beats  his  head  against  the  wall, 
wrings  his  hands,  and  lessens  his  woe  in  a  degree  by  a 
certain  amount  of  muscular  activity.  The  man  of  intel- 
lect struggles  mentally,  and  stands  in  need  of  entire  phys- 
ical repose.  Such  a  man  as  Leuthold  could  only  for 
a  moment  be  excited  to  violence  against  the  hated  cause 
of  his  misfortune ;  he  soon  regained  his  exterior  compo- 
sure, and  his  misery  became  an  intellectual  labour,  which 
might  produce  loss  of  reason,  and  was  never-ceasing. 

He  sat  lost  in  a  profound  reverie.  Now  and  then,  like 
lightning  across  a  cloud,  some  idea  of  help  in  his  misery 
flashed  across  his  brain,  but  it  vanished  as  soon  as  it  ap- 
peared, leaving  each  time  a  blacker  night  in  his  soul. 

"The  sacrifice  of  ten  long  years  gone  for  nothing!"  he 
said  at  last  in  stifled  accents.  "  My  hair  is  bleached  be- 
fore its  time  with  the  slavery  to  which  I  have  submitted 
with  this  goal  in  view,  and  now  the  prize  is  snatched  from 
me  just  as  it  seemed  within  my  reach.  Again  I  must 
bow  my  neck  to  the  yoke,  and,  with  a  mind  fitted  to  ap- 
propriate to  itself  the  most  precious  treasures  of  science, 
toil  for  my  bread!  I  have  wasted  the  best  years  of  my 
life,  that  I  may  now  begin  all  over  again — an  old  man. 
It  was  indeed  a  losing  game  !  When  my  powers  began 
to  fail  me,  I  comforted  myself  with  hopes  of  a  near  re- 
lease ;  but  now  what  can  sustain  me  when  that  hope  has 
deserted  me  ?  No  release  in  future, — nothing  but  a  never- 
ending  struggle  for  daily  sustenance !  Oh !" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  91 

With  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  mortal  agony,  the  tortured 
man  buried  his  face  in  the  cushion  of  the  sofa,  and 
another  long  silence  ensued,  broken  only  by  Bertha's  loud 
sobbing. 

At  last  she  could  endure  the  silence  no  longer.  "What 
is  to  be  done  now  ?"  she  asked  half  sorrowfully,  half  defi- 
antly. 

"  Let  me  alone,"  said  Leuthold.  "  Leave  me — you  see 
how  I  am  suffering  and  struggling!" 

"  How  did  you  know  about  the  matter?"  she  insisted. 

"  That  fellow  Lederer  whispered  it  to  me  on  returning 
from  the  funeral.  He  signed  the  will  as  a  witness.  We 
were  separated  in  the  crowd,  and  I  could  not  even  ask 
him  whether  I  was  left  guardian  or  not.  If  I  were  only 

guardian "  He  ceased,  and  sunk  again  into  a'profound 

reverie. 

There  was  a  slight  noise  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  a 
lovely,  smiling  child's  face  looked  in,  and  a  clear,  musical 
voice  cried,  "  Peep  !"  At  the  sound  Leuthold  turned  his 
head  and  looked  with  strange  emotion  towards  the  place 
where  his  daughter  was  standing.  The  little  girl  planted 
herself  firmly  upon  her  feet,  and,  after  a  couple  of  futile 
attempts,  managed,  to  her  own  great  delight,  to  cross  the 
high  threshold.  This  difficulty  surmounted,  she  tripped 
gleefully  across  to  her  mother,  who  sat  nearest  the  door; 
but  upon  receiving  a  rude  repulse  from  her — a  repulse 
that  almost  threw  her  down — she  determined  to  pursue 
her  journey  as  far  as  her  father.  To  insure  her  swifter 
progress,  she  betook  herself  to  all  fours,  and,  when  she 
reached  her  goal,  climbed  up  by  her  father's  knees  and 
smiled  into  his  face.  Leuthold  gazed  for  a  few  moments 
•  into  her  round,  innocent  eyes;  his  own  grew  dim;  he 
took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  whispered,  as  he  clasped 
her  to  his  breast,  "  Poor  child  !"  His  breath  came  quick 
— he  clasped  her  tighter  and  tighter  in  his  arms,  until 
suddenly  a  burst  of  tears  relieved  his  overburdened  soul. 
The  father's  heart  was  filled  for  once  with  pure  human 
emotion. 

Gretchen  tried  to  wipe  his  eyes  with  her  little  apron, 
and  patted  his  cheeks  with  her  chubby  hands. 

There  is  a  wonderful  power  in  the  touch  of  a  child's 


92  ONLY  A    GIRL  ; 

soft,  pure   band,   soothing   a   wildly-beating   heart   and 
strengthening    a   soul   sickened    by    hope    deferred.     It 
seemed  to  Leuthold  as  if  the  wounds  that  had  tormented 
him  were  healed  by  that  gentle  touch.     He  kissed  the 
rosy  little  palms  again  and  again.     He  would  labour  with 
all  his  might  for  this  child — she  should  have  a  brilliant 
future  at  any  cost.     He  arose,  and,  putting  her  gently 
down   on.  the   carpet,  walked    slowly  to   and    fro   with 
folded   arms,   revolving   in    his   busy   brain   a  thousand 
plans  for   the   future.      His   thoughts  were  rudely   dis- 
turbed  by  Bertha,  who,  for  want  of  any  other  object, 
wreaked  her  ill  humour  upon  Gretchen.     The  child  had 
got  hold  of  an  embroidered  footstool,  and  was  engaged 
in  the  delightful  occupation  of  picking  off  the  bugles  and 
pearls   fastened   upon   the    fringe.     Bertha   snatched   it 
away,  and  was  slapping  the  little  hands  violently,  when 
suddenly  Leuthold  seized  her  arm  and  held  it  in  a  firm 
grasp,  while  anger  flashed  in  his  eyes;  and  his  words, 
his    bearing,  his  whole  manner,   filled   her  with  terror 
as  he  began  :    "  Your  nature  is  so  coarse  that  you  cannot 
even  appreciate  the  promptings  of  maternal  instinct.  Had 
you  possessed  one  atom  of  feminine  feeling,  you  would 
have  seen  what  a  comfort  the  child  is  to  me,  and  would 
have  lavished  tenderness  upon  her,  instead  of  maltreat- 
ing her.     But  of  what  consequence  are  my  sorrows  to 
you?     When  I  staggered  and  fell  to  the  ground  beneath 
the  weight  of  my  misery,  you  thought  only  of  yourself; 
your  gentlest  word  to  me  was  '  miserable  man.'     Let  me 
tell  you,  however,  that  the  weakness  of  an  ailing  man  i.s 
not  so  repulsive  as  the  rude  strength  of  a  coarse  woman. 
Therefore,  be  kind  enough  to  moderate  the  exhibition  of 
your  strength,   at  least  towards  this  angel,  who  shall 
never  suffer  for  an  hour  as  long  as  I  draw  breath." 

Bertha  put  Gretchen  on  the  ground,  and  stood  with 
arms  akimbo.  "Oh!"  she  began,  trembling  with  rage, 
"  is  this  the  tone  you  begin  to  take— talking  in  this  way 
to  me  just  when  you  ought  to  be  grateful  to  me  for  con- 
senting to  share  your  wretched  lot?" 

"  My  wretched  lot?"  repeated  Leuthold,  while  his  face 
grew  deadly  white  again.  "  Who  has  made  my  lot  a 
wretched  one  ? — who  other  than  yourself?  Do  you  dare 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN'  FOR   THE  SOUL.  93 

to  increase  its  misery  ?  Is  not  your  disobedience,  your 
folly,  the  cause  of  the  whole  misfortune  ?  If  you  had 
obeyed  my  commands,  and  kept  watch  upon  what  was 
going  on  in  the  house,  the  arrival  of  the  lawyers  would  not 
have  escaped  you.  You  might  have  informed  me  and  I 
could,  even  at  the  last  moment,  have  prevented  the  making 
of  that  will.  You,  and  you  alone,  have  ruined  my  child's 
and  my  own  future  ;  and,  instead  of  falling  at  my  feet 
and  begging  for  forgiveness,  you  dare  to  reproach  me! 
It  would  be  ridiculous,  if  it  were  not  so  deplorable  !" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Bertha,  "it  is  all  my  fault.  I  expected 
that.  Why  didn't  you  stay  at  home  yourself  and  watch  ? 
Because  you  .suspected  nothing,  no  more  than  I  did,  and 
because  you  wanted  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  Heim,  who 
knew  all  about  your  former  disgrace.  Is  it  my  fault  that 
you  have  conducted  yourself  so  in  the  past  that  you  have 
to  avoid  all  your  old  acquaintances?" 

Lcuthold  swelled  with  indignation.  "  Silence,  wretched 
woman!  Would  you  drive  me  to  extremities  ?" 

"Yes,"  continued  Bertha  more  angrily  than  ever, — 
"yes,  I  don't  care  now  what  you  do.  The  only  satisfac- 
tion I  can  have  now  is  speaking  out  the  truth  to  you 
for  once.  I  will  be  reconciled  to  my  father  while  there 
is  time.  Perhaps  he  will  make  over  the  business  to 
me.  I  understand  how  to  conduct  it,  and  can  make 
it  pay.  I  shall  have  a  better  chance  there,  at  any  rate, 
than  in  staying  here  to  starve  with  you.  My  honest  old 
father  was  right  when  he  warned  me  against  you.  Heaven 
only  knows  what  infatuated  me  so  with  your  hatchet  face. 
I  saw  from  the  first  what  you  were, — a  heap  of  learning 
and  mind,  and  a  perfect  icicle,  with  whom  I  never  could 
be  happy.  We  had  only  been  married  two  months,  when 
there  was  all  that  disgraceful  fuss  with  Hilsborn ;  my  father 
wanted  me  to  be  separated  from  you  then  ;  but  you  stuffed 
my  ears  with  stories  of  your  brother  here,  who  would 
make  you  rich;  and  I  believed  you,  and  gave  up  my  old 
father,  arid  came  here  to  this  hole  to  live  with  you.  What 
did  I  get  by  it?  The  little  property  that  I  inherited  from 
my  mother  has  been  frittered  away  in  household  expenses, 
that  you  might  seem  disinterested  to  your  brother. /'I 
gave  up  everything,  —  concerts,  theatres,  parties,  —  and 


94  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

willingly ;  for  I  depended  upon  a  brilliant  future.  I  have 
waited  patiently  and  obediently  until  your  brother  should 
kill  himself  with  the  drink  of  which  he  was  so  fund  ;  and, 
now  that  he  is  dead,  what  have  I  got  in  exchange  for 
time,  youth,  money,  and  all  ?  And  now  I  am  to  make 
a  grateful  courtesy,  and  say,  'My  dear  husband,  'tis 
true  that  you  have  robbed  me  of  everything,  you  have 
attempted  to  strangle  me  ;  but  I  will  nevertheless  take 
the  liberty  of  remaining  with  you,  that  you  may  con- 
tinue to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  calling  me  rough,  coarse, 
and  good  for  nothing,  and  that  you  may  instruct  me  with 
which  hand  I  am  to  put  in  my  mouth  the  potatoes  that 
are  all  we  shall  have  to  live  upon.'  This  is  what  I  am  to 
say,  is  it  not  ?  Yes " 

Leuthold  had  been  listening  attentively,  and,  in  the 
course  of  this  long  speech,  had  regained  his  former  com- 
posure. He  now  interrupted  her  with,  "That  is,  in  other 
wrords,  that  you  contemplate  adding  to  my  misfortunes 
the  withdrawal  of  your  amiable  presence,  leaving  me  to 
bear  my  heavy  lot  alone.  Your  intention  demands  my 
gratitude;  if  you  wish  for  a  divorce,  I  am  entirely  agreed 
to  it,  only  pray  furnish  the  ground  for  it  yourself,  that 
my  good  name  may  not  be  compromised.  We  have  lived 
together  hitherto  in  such  outward  harmony,  it  might  be 
difficult  to  convince  a  court  of-  the  impossibility  of  a 
longer  union.  There  must,  therefore,  be  some  legal  ground 
for  a  divorce,  and  you  can  arrange  all  that  to  suit  your- 
self." 

"  "What !"  cried  Bertha,  "  am  I  to  conduct  myself  dis- 
gracefully that  people  may  despise  me  and  pity  you, — 
wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  that  you  are?  No,  no  ;  I'm  not 
quite  so  stupid  as  that.  And  then  my  father  would  not 
receive  me,  and  there  would  be  nothing  left  for  me  in  this 
world." 

Leuthold  walked  thoughtfully  to  and  fro.  "  It  was 
the  mistake  of  my  life  that  ten  years  ago  I  married 
you  to  get  money  to  make  that  journey  to  Trieste.  I 
thought  you  more  harmless  than  you  are.  For  ten  long 
years  I  have  endured  the  annoyance  of  your  coarseness 
and  narrow-mindedness.  Such  a  wife  as  you  are  is  a 
perpetual  thorn  in  the  side  of  such  a  man  as  myself;  my 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  95 

nerves  have  suffered  terribly.  And  now  I  find  you  are 
not  even  capable  of  maternal  affection, — you  cannot  treat 
your  child  as  you  should.  If  it  were  not  for  Gretchen,  I 
would  never  see  you  again, — but  now " 

Bertha  started.  "  Why,  yes, — I  never  thought  of 
Gretchen." 

"  You  can  easily  understand  that  I  shall  not  give  up 
my  child, "Leuthold  went  on,  looking  foudly  at  the  lovely 
little  creature,  who  was  sitting  on  the  carpet  prattling 
softly  and  unintelligibly  to  herself.  "  She  is  all  that  is 
left  to  me  of  my  shattered  existence ; — my  last  hopes  in 
life  are  centred  in  her — I  will  never  give  her  up  !  The 
law  gives  her  to  you  if  I  should  furnish  grounds  for  a 
divorce :  so,  you  see,  I  cannot  take  the  initiative.  If,  how- 
ever, you  consent  to  a  separation,  and  will  leave  Gretchen 
to  me,  you  are  free  to  leave  my  house  whenever  you 
please.  Consider  what  I  say." 

Bertha  knelt  down  upon  the  carpet,  and  said  in  a  com- 
plaining tone,  "Gretel,  shall  mamma  go  far  away?" 

The  child,  in  whose  mind  the  remembrance  of  the  slaps 
that  had  made  its  little  hands  so  red  was  still  very  lively, 
avoided  her  caress,  and  crept  away  as  fast  as  it  could  to 
its  father's  feet. 

"  Its  choice  is  made,"  said  Leuthold,  taking  it  in  his 
arms. 

"  Of  course  you  are  quite  capable  of  setting  my  own 
flesh  and  blood  against  me,"  whined  Bertha.  "What 
shall  I  do !  I  cannot  leave  the  child,  and  I  will  not  stay 
with  you.  What  shall  I  do  !'; 

She  walked  heavily  up  and  down  the  room,  wringing 
her  hands.  Leuthold  had  carried  Gretchen  to  the  win- 
dow, and  was  looking  down  into  the  court-yard,  where 
the  broad,  stalwart  figure  of  Heim  was  just  leaving  the 
house.  He  shot  one  glance  of  deadly  hatred  at  his  enemy, 
but  it  did  no  harm;  and  with  a  profound  sigh  Leuthold 
leaned  his  cold  forehead  against  the  window-frame  and 
looked  on  whilst  Heim  stepped  into  his  carriage  and  took 
a  pinch  of  snuff  with  a  most  cheerful  air.  The  driver 
clambered  clumsily  upon  the  box,  and  gathered  up  hi* 
whip  and  reins,  the  horses  started  off,  the  chickens  flew 
in  all  directions,  their  old  friend  the  watch-dog  came 


96  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

barking  out  of  his  kennel,  and  the  old-fashioned  coach, 
belonging  to  the  Hartwich  establishment,  rattled  away. 

As,  after  seasons  of  intense  emotion,  the  exhausted  mind 
slavishly  follows  the  lead  of  the  ever-active  senses,  Leu- 
thold,  in  his  misery,  thus  minutely  observed  every  par- 
ticular of  Heim's  departure. 

"  He  is  happy  !"  he  thought ;  and  then  his  eyes  rested 
upon  the  fowls  devouring  the  remains  of  the  oats  that 
had  been  brought  for  the  horses.  "Happy  he  to  whom 
has  been  given  the  faculty  of  making  himself  beloved  ! 
mankind  follow  him  as  those  fowls  follow  in  the  track 
of  Heim's  carriage.  Is  it  any  merit  of  his  that  wins 
him  the  hearts  of  all?  Bah,  nonsense!  it  is  a  talent, 
— and  the  most  profitable  one  for  its  possessor.  These 
benefactors  of  mankind,  as  they  are  called,  thrive  upon 
it:  who  would  not  do  likewise  if  he  only  could?  But 
those  who  have  not  the  gift  cannot  do  it.  One  man 
comes  into  the  world  with  qualities  that  make  him  useful 
and  pleasing  to  his  fellow-men;  another  with  propensities 
that  make  him  an  object  of  fear  to  his  kind.  Is  the  lap- 
dog  to  be  commended  because  his  agreeable  characteristics 
qualify  him  to  spend  his  life  luxuriously  on  a  silken 
cushion  ?  And  is  the  fox  to  be  blamed  because  he  does 
not  understand  how  to  ingratiate  himself  with  mankind, 
but  must  eke  out  his  miserable  existence  by  theft  ?  Each 
after  his  kind,  and  we  human  beings  have  senses  in  com- 
mon with  the  brutes, — and  why  not  the  peculiarities  also 
of  their  several  species  ?  Yes,  there  are  lapdogs  among 
us,  and  foxes,  and  wolves,  cats,  and  tigers!  Struggle 
against  it  as  we  may,  with  all  our  babble  of  free  will, 
temperament  is  everything.  How  can  1  help  it  if  1  be- 
long among  the  foxes  ?  Only  a  fool  would  look  for  moral 
causes  in  all  this  chaos  of  chances.  The  activity  of  na- 
ture is  shown  in  eternal  creation,  destruction,  and  re-crea- 
tion from  destruction, — plants,  brutes,  and  men  are  the 
blind  tools  of  her  secret  forces,  creative  and  destructive, 
or,  as  the  moralist  calls  them,  good  and  evil !  But  what 
do  we  call  good  ?  What  pleases  us.  What  evil  ?  That 
which  harms  us.  And  we  are  to  judge  the  world  by  this 
narrow  egotistic  scale  of  morals  ?  Oh,  what  folly!  Crea- 
tive and  destructive  forces — are  they  not  alike  necessary 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  9f 

agents  in  nature's  great  workshop  ?  And  if  they  work 
so  steadily  in  unconscious  matter,  are  they  dead  in  man- 
kind, the  embodiment  of  conscious  nature  ?  Is  our  poor, 
patched-up  code  of  morals  strong  enough  to  tear  asunder 
the  chains  that  keep  us  bound  fast  to  the  order  of  the 
universe?  No, — it  is  miserable  arrogance  to  maintain 
such  a  theory.  Nature  has  never  created  a  species  with- 
out producing  another  hostile  to  it;  the  rule  holds  good 
in  the  world  of  humanity  as  well  as  among  plants  and 
brutes.  The  parasite  that  preys  upon  its  supporting 
plant,  the  insect  depositing  its  eggs  in  the  body  of  the 
caterpillar,  the  falcon  pursuing  the  innocent  dove,  the 
tiger  rending  the  mild-eyed  antelope,  and,  lastly,  the  man 
who  preserves  his  own  existence  by  preying  upon  his 
fellow-men, — all  are  only  the  exponents  of  those  hostile 
forces  that  are  indispensable  to  the  economy  of  nature. 
Who  can  venture  to  talk  of  good  and  evil  ?  There 'is  only 
one  idea  that  we  owe  to  our  advanced  culture, — only  one 
varnish  that  bedaubs  and  conceals  the  beast  in  us, — re- 
gard for  appearances  !  This  is  the  corner-stone  of  our 
ethics,  the  only  thoroughly  practicable  discipline  for  the 
human  race.  Let  a  due  regard  for  appearances  be 
observed,  and  we  are  distinguished,  lauded,  and  beloved 
among  men, — the  only  reward  of  our  virtue  is  the  recogni- 
tion of  it  by  our  excellent  contemporaries;  their  judgment 
decides  the  degree  of  our  morality;  everything  else  is  the 
exaggeration  of  fancy." 

He  was  aroused  from  this  reverie  by  Bertha,  who  sud- 
denlv  shook  him  by  the  shoulder  with  an  impatient 
"  Well  ?" 

Leuthold  looked  at  her  like  a  man  awakened  from  a 
dream.  "  What  is  it?"  he  inquired. 

"  I  want  to  know  what  is  to  be  done  ?"  she  replied 
angrily. 

Leuthold  laid  the  child,  who  had  fallen  asleep  upon 
his  shoulder,  on  the  sofa. 

"  Oh,  yes,  with  regard  to  our  separation." 

"  I  suppose  you  had  entirely  forgotten  it." 

"  I  confess  that  I  was  thinking  of  something  else  at  the 
moment ;  but  the  matter  is  very  simple.  Go  to  your  father 

9 


98  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

and  effect  a  reconciliation  with  him.  Gretchen  will  stay 
with  me.  You  are  free  to  go  and  come  as  you  please. 
If  you  find  that  you  cannot  do  without  the  child,  in  a  few 
weeks  you  can  return,  if  you  choose.  It  would,  at  all 
events,  be  better  for  you  to  be  away  for  awhile  until 
I  have  rearranged  my  miserable  affairs.  I  am  going  now 
to  hear  the  will  read.  If  I  am  appointed  Ernestine's 
guardian,  my  life  will  be  connected  for  the  future  with 
that  of  my  ward."  He  suddenly  gazed  into  vacancy,  as 
if  struck  by  a  new  idea,  then  started  and  seized  his  hat. 
"  Yes,  yes,  I  must  go.  Perhaps  I  am  guardian !"  And 
he  turned  away. 

Bertha  called  after  him,  "  Then  I  may  get  ready  to  go  ?" 
"  Do  just  as  you  please,"  he  replied,  turning  upon  the 
threshold  with  all  the  old  courtesy,  and  then  disappeared. 
Bertha  went  to  her  wardrobe  and  began  to  collect  her 
possessions.  "  I  am  rightly  paid  for  leaving  a  good 
head-waiter  in  the  lurch  for  the  sake  of  a  fine  doctor.  If 
I  had  married  Fritz,  I  should  now  have  been  the  land- 
lady of  a  hotel,  while,  the  wife  of  a  doctor,  I  don't  know 
where  to  lay  my  head !"  She  looked  across  the  room  at 
the  sleeping  child.  "  If  I  only  had  not  that  child,  I  should 
be  easier  1  But,  then,  it  is  his  child.  She  loves  him  far 
better  than  me.  It  will  be  just  like  him  one  day,  and  a 
sorrow  to  me,"  she  muttered.  Then,  as  if  the  last  thought 
were  repented  of  as  soon  as  conceived,  she  hastened  up 
to  Gretchen,  and,  weeping,  kissed  her  pure  white  fore- 
head. "  No,  no,  you  cannot  help  me  !"  she  sobbed,  and 
snatched  the  child  to  her  broad  breast. 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  99 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SOUL-MURDER. 

A  FRESH  autumnal  breeze  was  shaking-  the  heavy 
boughs  of  the  fruit-trees  in  the  Hartwich  kitchen-garden. 
Beneath  a  spreading  apple-tree  a  new  bench,  painted 
green,  had  recently  been  placed.  Some  white  garments, 
hanging  upon  a  line  to  dry,  fluttered  like  triumphal  pen- 
nons in  the  direction  from  which  a  number  of  persons 
was  slowly  approaching  the  apple-tree.  Rieka  was  care- 
fully pushing  along  the  rolling-chair,  which,  after  so 
long  affording  shelter  to  the  cats  and  chickens,  had  lately 
been  recushioned  and  repaired.  By  its  side  walked  good 
old  Heim  and  Leuthold.  Ernestine's  frail  little  figure, 
with  head  still  bandaged  and  hands  gently  folded,  re- 
clined in  the  chair ;  and  if  her  large,  dark  eyes  had  not 
been  riveted  with  an  expression  of  utter  enjoyment  upon 
the  distant  landscape,  she  might  have  been  thought 
smiling  in  death,  so  ashy  pale  was  her  emaciated  counte- 
nance, so  bloodless  were  the  lips  which  were  slightly  open 
to  inhale  the  pure  morning  air.  The  signs  of  returning  and 
departing  life  are  as  wonderfully  alike  as  morning  and 
evening  twilight.  The  child  lying  there,  silent  and  mo- 
tionless, might  to  all  appearance  be  bidding  farewell  to 
the  world,  instead  of  greeting  it  anew  after  her  dangerous 
illness.  For  to-day  Ernestine  was,  as  it  were,  celebrating 
her  resurrection  to  life.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she 
had  been  permitted  to  breathe  the  pure,  open  air  of 
heaven  ;  and  her  delight  was  so  profound  that  she  could 
only  fold  her  little  hands  and  pray  silently.  She  had  not 
the  strength  even  to  turn  herself  upon  her  cushions  ;  but 
her  youthful  soul  was  preening  its  wings  and  soaring  with 
the  birds  into  the  blue  autumn  skies. 

"  How  are  you  now,  my  child  ?"  Leuthold  asked  in  a 
tone  of  tender  sympathy. 


100  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Oh,  so  well,  dear  uncle  I"  the  little  girl  whispered  with 
a  long-drawn  sigh.  "  I  think  I  could  run  about,  if  I 
might." 

"  Ah,  you  could  not  yet,  even  if  you  might,"  said  Heini, 
looking  not  without  anxiety  into  the  child's  face,  trans- 
figured by  an  almost  unearthly  expression.  And  he  laid 
his  finger  upon  her  pulse,  now  scarcely  perceptible. 

"  Her  spirit,  as  she  recovers,  is  in  advance  of  her  body," 
he  said,  lingering  behind  with  Leuthold.  "  Physically 
such  a  child  is  soon  conquered  and  destroyed,  but  the 
heart  is  a  wonderful  thing  in  its  power  of  endurance.  I 
never  see  an  expression  of  real  suffering  upon  a  child's 
face  without  the  deepest  sympathy.  For  when  should 
we  be  really  gay  and  happy  in  this  life,  if  not  while  we 
are  children  ?" 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Leuthold.  "  That  melancholy 
mouth,  shaping  itself  now  to  an  unaccustomed  smile, 
those  bright  eyes,  around  which  the  traces  of  tears  are 
scarcely  yet  obliterated,  touch  me  deeply." 

Heim  glanced  keenly  at  the  speaker  expressing  himself 
apparently  with  emotion. 

"Oh,  what  a  pretty  new  bench!"  said  Ernestine  in  a 
weak  voice,  as  they  reached  the  apple-tree.  "And  the 
boughs  droop  around  it  like  an  arbour." 

Her  gaze  roved  hither  and  thither;  the  fluttering  linen 
on  the  line  pleafsed  her  ;  the  white  butterflies,  with  spotted 
wings,  hovering  about  the  beds,  enchanted  her ;  she 
thought  the  far  stretch  of  country,  with  its  distant  border 
of  forest,  magnificent, — everything  was  so  new  that  she 
seemed  to  see  it  for  the  first  time,  and  admired  it  all  with 
intense  delight.  The  long  rows  of  irregular  bean-poles 
opened  mysterious,  attractive  paths  to  her  imagination. 
Even  the  tall  asparagus  and  the  heads  of  cabbage,  upon 
which  large  beads  of  morning  dew  were  still  lying,  seemed 
to  her  master-pieces  of  nature. 

"  Oh,  how  lovely  the  world  is  !"  she  said  to  the  t\vo 
gentlemen.  "  And  no  one  to  punish  me !  You  are  so 
kind,  Herr  Geheimrath,  and  you,  Uncle  Leuthold,  and 
you  too,  Rieka,  are  so  good  to  me  !  I  thank  you  all  so 
much  !"  And  she  took  and  kissed  the  hands  of  Leuthold 
and  Heim  as  they  stood  beside  her,  while  tears  filled  her 
eyes. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   TUE  SOUL.  101 

"  You  strange  child,  what  makes  you  cry  now?"  asked 
Leuthold. 

"  I  cannot  tell ;  I  am  so  happy  !"  sobbed  Ernestine. 
"  If  I  only  had  a  father  or  a  mother  !" 

"  But  if  your  father  were  alive  he  would  beat  you 
again,"  said  Rieka,  taking  a  strictly  practical  view  of  the 
matter.  "  You  ought  to  be  glad  that  he  is  no  longer 
here;  it  is  much  happier  for  you." 

Ernestine's  head  drooped.  "  Oh,  I  am  not  longing  for 
my  father  who  is  dead  ;  I  want  a  father  to  love  me." 

"  You  have  an  uncle  who  loves  you  fondly,  my  child," 
said  Leuthold. 

"  Uncle,"  the  little  girl  began  again  after  a  short  pause, 
"  how  did  the  first  people  get  here  ?  Every  one  has  a 
father  and  mother ;  but  the  first  men  could  not  have  had 
any.  Where  did  they  come  from?" 

Leuthold  and  Heim  exchanged  glances  of  surprise. 

"  Ah,  how  you  are  going  to  the  very  root  of  the  mat- 
ter, prying  into  the  deepest  mysteries  of  creation  I"  said 
her  uncle  with  a  smile. 

"  There  is  stuff  for  a  scholar  in  the  child,"  said  Heim  ; 
"  she  must  be  educated." 

"  Most  certainly  !"  cried  Leuthold  with  unwonted  vi- 
vacity ;  "  something  must  be  made  of  her.  In  two  years 
she  will  read  Darwin."  And  he  became  lost  in  reverie. 

Heim  plucked  two  pansies  that  were  growing  among 
the  weeds,  and  handed  them  to  Ernestine.  "  Don't 
trouble  your  little  brain  with  such  thoughts,"  he  said 
with  an  attempt  to  laugh.  "  When  you  are  grown  up 
you  can  learn  all  you  wish  to  know.  How  few  flowers 
you  have  here  !  Not  enough  for  a  nosegay  !" 

"  No  matter  for  that,  Herr  Heim,"  said  Ernestine  gaily. 
"  Although  there  are  so  few  flowers  here,  it  seems  to  me 
as  lovely  as  Paradise." 

"  The  child  is  imaginative,"  Heim  observed  to  Leuthold. 
"  She  finds  Paradise  in  a  neglected  kitchen-garden  ;  there 
is  poetry  there."  And  he  pointed  to  her  head  and  heart. 

Leuthold  took  the  child's  hand.  "  If  you  wish  for 
flowers,  my  darling,  you  shall  have  them.  You  are  now" 
— and  a  spasmodic  smile  hovered  upon  his  lips — "  so  rich 
that  you  need  deny  yourself  nothing." 

9* 


102  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

x 

"  I  am  rich!"  Ernestine  repeated,  as  though  she  could 
not  grasp  the  idea.  "  Does  the  chair  in  which  I  am  sit- 
ting belong  to  me  ?" 

"  Most  certainly." 

"  And  this  garden,  and  the  fields?" 

"  Everything  that  you  see." 

"  Oh,  how  delightful !  But,  uncle,  have  I  money  enough 
to  buy  me  a  telescope  like  yours  ?" 

Leuthold  looked  surprised  at  this  question  "  Is  that 
the  end  and  aim  of  your  desires  ?  Well,  then,  you  shall 
have  a  far  better  one  than  mine.  You  shall  have  an  ob- 
servatory, whence  you  can  search  the  heavens  far  and 
wide,  and,  if  you  choose,  I  will  be  your  teacher.  Would 
you  like  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  uncle  1"  sighed  Ernestine,  "  God  is  so  kind  to 
me — how  shall  I  thank  him  for  all  he  is  giving  me  ?" 

An  ugly  smile  appeared  on  Leuthold's  face  ;  she  looked 
up  at  him  in  surprise,  and  so  fixedly  that  he  involuntarily 
turned  aside. 

It  was  strange  !  Why  had  her  uncle  smiled  at  those 
words.  Was  what  she  had  said  so  stupid,  then  ?  Was  he 
laughing  at  her,  or  at — what  ?  Suddenly  there  was  au 
alloy  in  her  happiness,  as  if  she  bad  found  an  ugly  worm  in 
a  fragrant  rose  or  discovered  a  flaw  in  a  clear  mirror.  A 
pang  shot  through  her  heart.  Yes,  little  Kay  in  the 
story-book  must  have  felt  just  so  when  a  splinter  of  the 
evil  mirror  got  into  his  eye  and  heart  and  nothing  seemed 
perfect  or  stainless  to  him  any  more.  Instinctively  she 
looked  up  into  the  sky,  as  if  to  see  theHemon  flying  there 
with  the  mysterious  mirror  that  cast  scorn  and  contempt 
upon  the  works  of  the  good  God  ;  and  when  she  glanced 
again  at  her  uncle,  who  had  just  smiled  so  disagreeably, 
he  seemed  to  her  to  look  as  she  had  fancied  an  evil  spirit 
must  look,  and  she  shrank  from  him  in  a, way  that  she 
could  not  herself  comprehend.  She  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  exhausted,  to  rest  after  all  these  wearisome  thoughts 
that  had  chased  one  another  through  her  brain,  and  Ileim, 
observing  this,  took  Leuthold  aside ;  she  heard  him  say, 
"  Come,  we  will  leave  the  child  to  take  a  little  sleep." 

Rieka  sat  down  quietly  upon  the  bench  beside  her.  Er- 
nestine nestled  comfortably  among  the  yielding  cushions, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  103 

and  the  fragrant  breeze  stroked  her  cheek  like  a  gentle, 
caressing  hand.  The  birds  were  softly  twittering  in 
the  boughs  overhead.  All  nature  breathed  in  her  ear  : 
"  Sleep,  sleep  on  the  tender  breast  of  the  youthful  day. 
Rest !  you  are  not  yet  rested,  after  all  that  you  have  suf- 
fered !"  And  she  closed  her  eyes  and  tried  to  sleep,  but 
she  could  not.  Why  had  her  uncle  smiled  when  she 
spoke  of  God?  This  question  kept  her  awake,  and 
scared  away  rest  from  her  trusting,  childish  soul. 

Meanwhile  Heirn  and  Leuthold  walked  on  through  the 
garden.  "  Herr  Professor,"  the  former  began  to  his  com- 
panion, who  was  lost  in  thought,  "  I  must  speak  with 
you  about  the  future  of  our  protege.  I  have  plans  for 
her,  depending  upon  you  for  their  fulfilment."  Leuthold 
looked  at  him  attentively.  "  I  had  a  desire,"  Heirn  con- 
tinued, "  the  first  time  I  saw  this  strange  child,  to  adopt 
her  for  my  own ;  and  this  desire  has  become  stronger  since 
chance  has  brought  me  into  such  intimate  association  with 
her.  My  request  of  you  now  is :  Abdicate — not  your 
rights,  but — your  duties  as  her  guardian  in  my  favour, 
and  let  me  take  her  to  the  capital  with  me,  and  have  her 
educated  and  trained  so  that  full  justice  may  be  done  to 
her  physical  and  mental  capacities." 

Leuthold  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said 
with  some  hesitation,  as  he  drew  a  long  strip  of  grass 
through  his  slender  white  fingers,  "  That  looks,  Herr 
Geheimrath,  as  if  you  did  not  give  me  credit  for  the 
ability  or  the  will  to  educate  my  ward  suitably." 

Heim  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently.  "There 
shall  be  no  wire-drawing  between  us,  Herr  Gleissert ;  we 
both  know  what  we  think  of  each  other,  and  a  physician 
has  no  time  to  waste  in  complimental  speeches.  Be  kind 
enough  to  signify  to  me,  as  briefly  and  decidedly  as  pos- 
sible, your  acceptance  or  refusal  of  my  proposal." 

"  Well,  then,"  Leuthold  replied  with  a  keen  glance,  "  I 
must  reply  to  you  with  a  brief  and  decided  '  No  !'  " 

"  Indeed  !"  was  all  that  Heim  in  his  chagrin  rejoined. 

"Look  you,  Herr  Geheimrath,"  Leuthold  began  after 
some  moments  of  reflection  ;  "  I  will  be  frank  with  you. 
"  You  know  the  dark  stain  that  sullies  my  past,  and  the 
fault  of  my  nature, — ambition.  But,  for  all  that,  Herr 


104  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Geheimrath,  I  am  not  heartless!  In  my  childhood  I 
was  repelled  on  all  sides,  just  as  Ernestine  has  been.  I 
was  always  cast  in  the  shade  by  Hartwich,  the  son  of 
my  wealthy  step-mother.  You,  as  a  student  of  human 
nature,  well  know  what  power  there  is  in  early  surround- 
ings to  mould  a  man's  future, — perhaps  this  may  make 
you  more  lenient  to  my  faults.  Neither  affection  nor 
interest  was  shown  me,  and  so  kindly  feelings  faded  away 
within  me, — I  could  not  give  what  I  never  received. 
Thus,  Herr  Geheimrath,  I  grew  up  an  embittered,  hard- 
ened man.  The  severity  and  sternness  with  which  I  was 
treated  caused  me  to  cultivate  a  sort  of  plausibility  that 
won  me  friends,  although  I  had  no  qualities  to  enable  me 
to  retain  them.  Therefore  I  was  accounted  a  flatterer 
and  a  hypocrite.  But  .the  worst  of  all  was,  I  was  never 
taught  the  nice  distinction  between  honours  and  honour, 
and  thus  it  was  that,  in  my  blind  grasp  after  honours,  I 
sacrificed  my  honour  !"  He  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hand  and  paused  for  a  moment.  Old  Heim  shook  his 
huge  head,  vexed  with  himself  for  the  emotion  of  sym- 
pathy that  he  could  not  suppress. 

"  My  step-mother,"  Leuthold  continued,  "  was  an  im- 
perious, masculine  woman,  who  tyrannized  over  her  hus- 
band and  made  him  as  unhappy  as  her  son  and  step-son. 
You  have  seen  the  effect  of  her  training  upon  Hartwich, — 
he  became  a  drunkard,  sinning  in  the  flesh;  I,  of  a  less 
sensual  nature,  sinned  in  spirit!" 

"Forgive  me  for  interrupting  you,"  Heim  interposed 
here;  "  but  I  am  constrained  to  observe  that  if  you  had 
sinned  no  further  than  in  robbing  poor  Hilsboru  of  his 
discovery,  you  would  indeed  have  coveted  only  spiritual 
things,  and  there  might  have  been  some  excuse  for  you ; 
but  you  longed  for  earthly  possessions, — you  even  grasped 
after  the  property  of  the  poor  child  who  has  been  left  to 
your  care.  Judge  for  yourself  whether  such  a  helpless 
little  creature  can  be  confided  without  anxiety  to  the 
charge  of  a  guardian  who  has  not  scrupled  to  endeavour 
to  possess  himself  of  her  inheritance !" 

Leuthold  stood  confronting  Heim,  without  betraying, 
by  a  single  change  of  feature,  the  emotions  of  bis  mind. 
"  Herr  Geheimrath,"  he  said  with  dignity,  "  1  under- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  105 

stand  perfectly  how  all  that  must  appear  to  a  stranger 
entirely  unacquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  the  case, 
and  I  cannot  wonder  that  you  think  your  accusation  of 
me  well  founded.  So  be  it.  I  did  endeavour  to  possess 
myself  of  Hartwich's  property,  for  two-thirds  of  it  were 
mine  by  right.  Are  you  aware,  Herr  Geheimrath,  that 
when  I  first  took  my  place  in  the  factory  here,  Hartwich 
was  on  the  brink  of  bankruptcy?  Are  you  aware  that 
entirely  through  my  exertions  the  business  is  now  free 
from  debt,  and  that  the  income  which  in  the  course  of 
ten  years  made  Hartwich  a  wealthy  man  was  the  result 
solely  of  my  improvements  ?  He  contributed  nothing 
but  the  raw  material,  which  my  efforts  converted  into  a 
means  of  wealth.  Had  I  not  a  sacred  right  to  the  fruits 
of  my  exertions  ?" 

Again  the  Geheimrath  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  did 
not  speak. 

"  Time  is  money,"  Leuthold  continued  ;  "  and  I  frankly 
admit  that  I  do  not  belong  to  the  class  of  men  who  give 
without  any  hope  of  a  return.  I  am  a  poor  man,  com- 
pelled to  depend  upon  myself.  I  receive  nothing  gratui- 
tously ;  why  should  I  give  anything?  Hartwich  owed  me 
for  the  time  I  sacrificed  to  him.  I  do  not  claim  too  much 
when  I  aver  that,  with  my  capacity.  I  could  have  earned 
three  thousand  thalers  yearly  as  the  superintendent  of 
any  other  extensive  manufactory,  while  I  received  from 
Hartwich  the  small  salary  of  a  mere  overseer.  And  three 
thousand  thalers  yearly  amount  in  ten  years  to  thirty 
thousand  thalers,  without  counting  the  interest.  There 
you  have  one-third  of  the  property  that  I  '  coveted.' " 

Heim  assented  with  an  expression  of  surprise. 

Leuthold  continued  more  fluently:  '•  Now  for  the  re- 
maining third.  The  man  who  is  capable  of  introducing 
inventions  and  improvements  into  the  establishment, 
producing  in  ten  years  a  clear  profit  of  ninety  thousand 
thalers,  can  easily  dispose  of  such  inventions  for  twenty 
thousand  thalers ;  and  if  I  add  the  accumulated  interest 
of  ten  years,  it  amounts  to  exactly  thirty  thousand  thalers 
again.  If  my  step-brother  had  paid  me  this  sum,  he  would 
still  have  possessed  thirty  thousand  thalers  clear,  which 
\vould  have  belonged  of  right  to  his  daughter.  I  might 


106  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

have  offered  my  services  elsewhere,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
more  fitting  that  I  should  serve  my  brother  than  a 
stranger ;  I  might  have  insisted  upon  payment,  but  I 
knew  well  my  brother's  avarice,  and  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  extort  money  from  him  except  at  the  risk  of 
such  excitement  on  bis  part  as  might  cost  him  his  life. 
Therefore  I  thought  it  best,  as  I  foresaw  that  he  could 
not  live  long,  to  suspend  my  claims  and  allow  him  to 
devise  to  me  by  will  what  was  really  my  due.  How  ut- 
terly I  have  been  the  loser  by  my — I  do  not  scruple  to 
say — magnanimous  conduct,  you  well  know ;  and  now 
pray  point  out  wherein  I  have  unjustly  claimed  a  single 
groschen !" 

Heim,  his  hands  crossed  behind  him  and  his  head  sunk 
upon  his  breast,  walked  slowly  along  by  the  side  of 
Leuthold,  whose  slender  figure  had  recovered  all  its  for- 
mer elasticity  as  he  easily  wound  his  way  among  the 
tangled  bushes  and  weeds  in  the  neglected  path. 

"  I  cannot  tell  how  a  lawyer  would  designate  your 
conduct,"  the  old  man  said  meditatively.  "  I  should  not 
call  it  magnanimous ;  but  you  may  be  able  to  justify  it 
from  your  point  of  view.  Still,  one  never  knows  what  to 
expect  of  such  long-headed,  calculating  people." 

"  Yes,  Herr  Geheimrath,  it  is  the  destiny  of  those  who 
depend  upon  themselves  alone  for  whatever  of  good 
life  may  bring  them,  to  be  regarded  as  covetous, — they 
must  grasp  after  what  falls  unsought  for  into  the  lap  of 
others.  In  this  matter  I  not  only  did  what  I  could  for 
myself,  but  for  the  future  also.  Herr  Geheimrath,  I  am 
a  father!" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  you  were  not  a  father  at  the  time  that 
you  arranged  with  Hartwich  his  testamentary  disposi- 
tions," Heim  briefly  interposed. 

"  Only  two  months  afterwards  my  wife  gave  birth  to 
a  dead  son.  From  the  first  moment  when  I  dreamed  of 
one  day  possessing  a  child  for  whom  I  could  prepare  a 
future,  I  cherished  a  determination  to  hold  fast  to  what- 
ever was  mine  by  right.  I  think  you  cannot  refuse  to 
bear  witness  that  I  have  endured  the  destruction  of  all 
my  hopes  with  fortitude.  My  wife  has  left  me,  refusing 
to  share  with  me  my  cheerless  future.  I  stand  aloue 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  107 

with  my  helpless  child.  You  have  heard  no  word  of 
complaint  from  my  lips.  Examine  yourself,  and  your 
upright  nature  will  compel  you  to  acknowledge  that  I 
do  not  deserve  your  distrust.  And  now,  as  regards  the 
last  and  weightiest  consideration, — my  relation  to  my 
ward, — ask  any  one  whom  you  may  please  to  interrogate 
here,  whether  I  have  not  always  been  Ernestine's  advo- 
cate and  protector.  Every  servant  in  the  house — the 
child  herself — will  tell  you  that  it  has  been  so.  Upon 
this  point  my  conscience  cannot  accuse  me.  For,  look 
you,  Herr  Geheimrath,  this  child  is  the  only  living  being 
in  this  world,  besides  my  own  daughter,  whom  I  have 
to  love.  There  is  one  spot  in  my  nature,  hardened  as  it 
is  by  the  rough  usage  of  life,  that  has  always  remained 
soft, — the  memory  of  my  unhappy  childhood.  In  Ernes- 
tine I  am  reminded  of  my  own  early  youth,  and  there  is 
a  tender  satisfaction  in  providing  her  with  so  much  that 
at  her  age  I  was  obliged  to  deny  myself.  Leave  me  this 
child.  Herr  Geheimrath;  I  am  a  poor,  unhappy,  disap- 
pointed man.  Do  not  take  from  me  the  last  thing  that 
stirs  the  better  nature  within  me, — it  would  be  too  hard !" 

Heim  stood  still  for  an  instant,  and  seemed  about  to 
speak.  He  bethought  himself  and  walked  on  a  few  steps, 
then  paused  again :  "  The  case  is  not  psychologically  im- 
probable. You  may  feel  as  you  say,  and  you  may  invent 
it  all.  What  guarantee  have  I  for  its  truth  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  none,  if  you  do  not  find  it  in  the 
honesty  of  my  confession.  But,  Herr  Geheimrath,  by 
what  right — pardon  me — do  you  require  such  a  guar- 
antee from  me  ?" 

"  My  anxiety  for  the  child's  welfare,  I  should  suppose, 
would  be  allowed  to  give  me  such  a  right, — a  right  that, 
if  you  are  not  dead  to  human  feeling,  you  would  respect 
even  although  it  has  no. legal  grounds." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly, — 1  do  respect  it,  and  thank 
you  for  your  interest  in  the  child.  But  I  cannot  deny 
that  your  persistent  distrust  of  me  surprises  me  exceed- 
ingly, and  prompts  me  to  force  you  by  my  conduct  to  a 
better  opinion  of  me." 

"  That  is,  you  will  let  me  have  the  child  ?"  Heim  asked 
quickly. 


108  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  That  is,  I  am  more  determined  than  ever  to  under- 
take the  charge  of  her  education  myself,  that  I  may  one 
day  convince  you  of  the  injustice  that  you  are  doing  me." 

Heim  ^regarded  the  smiling  speaker  with  a  penetrating 
glance.  "  You  rely  upon  the  fact  that  I  can  legally  urge 
nothing  against  you.  Well,  then,  I  can  do  no  more.  I 
confide  the  fate  of  this  strange  child,  who  has  become  so 
dear  to  me,  to  a  loving  Providence,  that  will  watch  over 
her  and  over  you,  sir,  however  you  may  contrive  to  with- 
draw yourself  and  your  designs  from  the  eye  of  human 
scrutiny." 

As  Heim  spoke  these  words,  the  two  gentlemen  reached 
Ernestine's  chair.  The  little  girl  sat  perfectly  still,  lost 
in  thought.  Her  uncle  laid  his  hand  upon  her  white 
forehead,  and  said  to  himself,  "  I  will  keep  you  1" 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Leuthold  sat  before 
his  writing-table  at  the  open  windows.  The  cool  night 
air  made  the  flame  of  the  lamp  flicker  behind  its  green 
shade.  From  the  adjoining  room  came  the  low  sound 
of  the  plaintive  air  with  which  the  nursemaid  was  sooth- 
ing little  Gretchen  to  sleep.  A  cricket  upon  the  window- 
sill  chirped  continually,  and  a  singed  moth  would  now 
and  then  fall  upon  the  white,  unwritten  sheet  that  lay 
on  the  table  before  Leuthold.  It  was  a  calm,  mild, 
autumn  night, — a  night  when  darkness  hides  the  yellow 
leaves  and  one  can  dream  that  it  is  still  summer.  And 
yet  the  solitary  man  sat  there  gazing  into  vacancy,  with 
as  little  sympathy  with  nature  as  though  he  had  been 
banished  utterly  from  her  communion.  In  the  corner  of 
the  window-frame  there  fluttered  a  large  cobweb,  and  its 
proprietor  was  lying  in  wait  for  the  insects  that  were 
attracted  by  the  lamp.  But  the  man's  brain  was  weaving 
still  finer  webs  in  the  stillness  of  night,  and  in  the  midst 
of  them  lurked  the  ugly  spider  of  greed  of  gold,  also  lying 
in  wait  for  prey.  Ernestine  must  be  ensnared  ;  but  she 
had  protectors  who  were  upon  the  watch.  No  human 
being  must  suspect  that  her  guardian  was  her  worst 
enemy. 

The  will  had  been  opened,  and  t*vo  clauses  in  it  had 
given  Leuthold  renewed  life  and  hope.  He  was  Ernes- 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  109 

tine's  guardian, — and  her  heir  in  case  of  her  dying  un- 
married. By  the  time  that  his  light  began  to  fade,  he 
had  laid  all  his  plans,  and  arose  from  his  seat  with  the 
feeling  of  satisfaction  experienced  by  an  author  who  has 
just  thought  out  successfully  the  plot  of  a  new  work. 
Ernestine  was  no  more  to  him  than  a  character  in  a  novel 
is  to  its  author, — a  character  which  is  indispensable  to  the 
plot,  and  which  the  author  treats  with  care  as  a  necessary 
evil,  but  never  with  affection.  Thus  he  had  planned 
with  great  precision  the  child's  future;  and,  unless  he 
utterly  failed  in  his  designs,  the  figure  that  now  hovered 
before  his  imagination  would  greatly  conduce  to  the 
successful  conclusion  of  the  romance  for  his  child  and 
himself. 

The  lamp  died  down.  Leuthold  slipped  out  upon  tip- 
toe, and,  undressing  in  the  next  room  in  the  dark,  lay 
down  in  the  bed  beside  which  stood  Gretchen's  crib. 
Soon  after  the  child  awoke,  and  stretched  out  her  hands 
towards  her  father.  He  drew  her  towards  him,  and 
laid  her  head  upon  his  breast,  that  was  chilled  as 
though  from  the  influence  of  his  own  icy  heart.  She 
nestled  up  to  him,  and  put  her  little  arms  around  his 
neck.  He  listened  to  her  quiet  breathing  as  she  fell 
calmly  asleep  again,  and  gradually  his  own  heart  grew 
warm  beside  hers,  beating  there  so  peacefully.  He  scarcely 
ventured  to  breathe  himself,  for  fear  of  wakening  her.  It 
was  a  happy  moment  for  him.  Upon  the  breath  of  the 
slumbering  child  an  ineffable  delight  was  wafted  into  his 
soul.  He  held  in  his  arms  the  only  being  whom  he  loved 
and  who  really  loved  him, — his  child,  his  own  flesh  and 
blood  !  Suddenly  there  was  a  loud  knocking  at  his  door, 
and  Rieka's  shrill  voice  cried,  "  Herr  Doctor!  Herr  Doc- 
tor! pray  get  up  quickly  and  come  to  Ernestine!" 

Leuthold  started  up  and  gently  laid  the  child  in  her 
crib  again.  Every  nerve  in  his  body  vibrated,  his  heart 
beat  wildly,  and  his  hands  trembled  as  he  dressed  him- 
self hurriedly.  Something  extraordinary  must  have  oc- 
curred: was  Ernestine  worse? — perhaps  dying?  Was 
fate  to  atone  so  soon  for  Hartwich's  injustice  ?  Were  his 
hopes  to  be — the  thought  made  him  giddy,  breathless, 

10 


110  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

and,  almost  tottering,  he  reached  the  door  where  Rieka 
was  waiting  to  light  him  down  the  stairs. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  Herr  Doctor,  it  is  our  fault,"  Rieka  began  :  "  The- 
resa and  I  were  sitting  by  Ernestine's  bedside  and  talking ; 
we  thought  she  was  sound  asleep,  we  were  talking  about 
master  who  is  dead;  and  we  told  about  the  dairy-maid's 
refusing  to  sleep  in  the  barn-loft  any  more,  because  she  says 
he  walks.  And  we  spoke  of  his  death,  how  he  called  for 
his  child,  and  declared  that  he  could  not  find  rest  in  his 
grave  if  Ernestine  did  not  forgive  him.  And  we  said  we 
were  sure  that  he  would  appear  to  her  some  day,  for  when 
any  one  dies  with  such  a  burden  on  his  soul,  there  is  no  rest 
for  him  until  he  has  the  forgiveness  that  he  craves.  Then 
Ernestine  suddenly  began  to  cry,  and  we  saw  that  she 
had  heard  everything.  We  tried  to  quiet  her,  but  she 
grew  worse  and  worse,  and  nothing  would  content  her 
but  that  she  must  be  taken  this  very  night  to  the  church- 
yard, to  her  father's  grave,  that  she  might  forgive  him. 
We  can  do  nothing  with  her  ;  she  insists  upon  it ;  she  is 
almost  in  convulsions  with  crying  and  obstinacy  1" 

They  entered  Ernestine's  room,  where  Theresa,  the 
other  maid,  was  trying  to  keep  the  struggling,  desperate 
child  in  bed.  Leuthold  went  softly  up  to  her,  and  laid 
his  cool,  delicate  hand  upon  her  burning  forehead.  His 
touch  soothed  her;  she  became  quiet,  and  looked  up  at 
her  uncle  with  a  piteous  entreaty  in  her  large  eyes. 

"  Leave  me  alone  with  her,"  he  said  to  the  servants, 
who  obeyed  with  a  mutter  of  discontent.  He  then 
trimmed  the  night-lamp  so  that  it  burned  brightly,  and 
seated  himself  beside  Ernestine's  couch.  "  My  child,"  he 
began,  in  his  low,  melodious  voice,  "  you  are  quite  clever 
enough  to  understand  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  you,  but 
you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  never  repeat  it  to  any 
human  being.  Do  you  promise  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  will  promise,  uncle,"  sobbed  Ernestine,  "if  you 
will  only  help  me  to  let  my  poor  father  know  that  I  for- 
give him, — oh,  with  all  my  heart ! — and  that  my  head  is 
well  again,  and  does  not  hurt  me  any  more !  Oh,  my 
poor,  poor  father, — your  little  Ernestine  wants  so  to  tell 
you  that  she  is  not  angry  with  you ;  but  she  cannot  1" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  HI 

"  You  are  a  good  child,  Ernestine,  but  you  are  only  a 
child  !"  Leuthold  continued,  while  the  same  strange  smile 
that  had  so  troubled  Ernestine  in  the  morning  again 
played  around  his  mouth.  She  looked  up  in  surprise. 
Was  what  she  had  said  so  foolish  again  ? 

"  You  are  too  clever,  young  as  you  are,  to  be  allowed 
to  fall  into  the  vulgar  belief  shared  by  the  maids ;  and 
therefore  I  must  tell  you  what  it  would  not  be  best  for 
them  to  know, — that  the  dead  do  not  live  in  any  form 
whatever." 

Ernestine  started,  and  gazed  at  her  uncle. — "What?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  tell  you  truly,  whoever  is  dead  is  dead  ; 
that  means,  he  has  ceased  to  be  ;  he  neither  feels  nor 
thinks  ;  a  few  bones  are  all  that  there  is  of  him ;  and  they 
are  good  for  nothing  but  to  convert  into  lime  or  manure 
for  the  fields." 

Ernestine  hearkened  breathless  to  his  words.  "  But 
where  then  are  the  spirits,  uncle  ?" 

"  There  are  no  spirits." 

"  Then  shall  we  never  go  to  heaven  ?" 

"  Of  course  not;  those  are  all  fables,  invented  to  induce 
common  people  to  be  good.  They  must  believe  in  re- 
wards and  punishments  after  death,  to  enable  them  to 
bear  the  trials  and  deprivations  of  their  lot  in  life.  They 
would  rebel  against  all  control,  and  be  in  perpetual  mu- 
tiny, without  the  prospect  of  compensation  after  death. 
So  there  are  wise  philosophers  in  every  country,  com- 
posing what  is  called  the  Christian  Church,  who  have  in- 
vented many  beautiful  legends, — which  you  call  the  Bible. 
Superstition  is  founded  upon  the  weakness  and  folly  of 
mankind,  upon  ignorance  of  the  true  laws  of  nature;  and 
the  churches  of  every  age  and  clime  have  used  it  as  the 
stuff  of  which  they  have  made  leading-strings  for  the 
people.  But  the  educated  man,  breathing  only  a  pure, 
intellectual  atmosphere,  is  free  from  such  fetters.  Science 
leads  him  with  a  loving  hand  to  heights  whence  she 
points  out  to  him  the  natural  laws  of  the  universe,  and,  in 
place  of  the  prop  of  which  she  deprives  him,  gives  him 
strength  to  stand  alone." 

Ernestine  was  ashy  pale;  her  lips  moved,  but  no  sound 
issued  from  them  ;  she  clenched  her  hands,  and  felt  as  if 


112  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

crushed  by  some  terrible,  unheard-of  mystery.  She  could 
hardly  bear  to  listen  to  what  her  uncle  was  saying,  and 
yet  she  caught  greedily  at  every  word  ;  she  could  not  bear 
to  believe  him,  and  yet  she  could  not  but  distrust,  now, 
what  the  pastor  had  taught  her.  She  was  ashamed  not 
to  be  as  clever  as  her  uncle  had  called  her :  the  poison 
that  he  had  instilled  into  her  mind  worked  quickly. 

"  But,  uncle,  can  what  so  many  people  believe  be  all 
false?  Old  people  and  children,  kings  and  emperors,  beg- 
gars and  rich  men,  all  go  to  church: — is  there  any  one 
except  you  who  does  not  go  ?" 

Leuthold  laughed  louder  than  was  his  wont.  "It  is 
easy  enough  to  answer  you,  dear  child.  In  the  first  place, 
there  are  multitudes  of  men  besides  myself  who  belong  to 
no  church.  In  the  second  place,  the  number  of  people 
who  profess  to  believe  a  creed  is  no  proof  of  its  truth,  but 
only  of  the  ignorance  and  narrow-mindedness  of  those 
professing  such  belief.  Millions  of  men  have  been  pan- 
theists, and  counted  all  those  who  did  not  share  their 
faith  criminal.  Every  religion  condemns  all  others  as 
erroneous.  Which  is  right?  As  long  as  all  were  ignorant 
of  the  causes  of  the  mighty  and  glorious  operations  of 
nature,  these  were  ascribed  to  supernatural  agencies  and 
regarded  as  revelations  of  the  divine.  Thunder  and 
lightning,  light  and  air,  all  were  governed,  according 
to  the  ancients,  as  among  savages  at  the  present  day, 
by  their  own  several  deities;  every  natural  event  was 
ascribed  to  some  being,  half  man,  half  god ;  and  thus 
heaven  and  earth  were  peopled  with  good  and  evil  spirits, 
friendly  or  hostile  to  mankind.  This  superstition  fled  at 
the  approach  of  science,  or  at  least  it  became  weakened, — 
etherialized.  With  increasing  knowledge  of  natural  laws, 
the  sensual  gods  of  Greece  and  Rome  lost  form  and  sub- 
stance, and  finally  vanished,  to  be  replaced  by  a  true  ap- 
preciation of  the  elements  as  such,  and  a  faith  in  a  cen- 
tral Providence  ruling  all  things  wisely  and  well.  This 
is  a  great  improvement ;  but  it  is  not  enough.  We  still 
have  a  Trinity, — a  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost;  we  still 
have  angels,  demons,  and  saints, — a  multitude  of  good  and 
evil  deities,  who  have  followed  us  down  from  old  pair.m 
times,  and  who,  although  more  respectably  apparelled,  are 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  113 

still  prepared  to  work  all  kinds  of  miracles.  The  more 
fully  the  laws  of  matter  are  laid  bare  to  our  searching  eyes, 
the  dimmer  grows  our  religious  belief, — as  the  shadow, 
which  in  the  darkness  we  have  taken  for  the  substance 
itself,  fades  before  the  first  ray  of  sunlight,  which  reveals 
the  substance  distinctly.  The  various  gods  of  all  ages 
and  climes  were  only  the  shadows  cast  by  the  operation 
of  natural  laws;  as  soon  as  the  light  of  science  fell  upon, 
them,  they  vanished.  Thus,  religious  fancy  was  driven 
away  from  this  physical  world,  as  the  laws  ruling  it  were 
discovered,  and  obliged  to  seek  a  more  abstract  domain  ; 
but  even  there  it  is  not  secure ;  for  scientific  inquiry, 
climbing  from  height  to  height,  and  gaining  in  vigour 
with  every  fresh  advance,  long  ago  began  to  follow  it 
thither;  and  it  must  consent  to  still  greater  concessions,  if 
it  would  not  be  driven  from-  its  last  foothold, — its  self- 
created  heaven!" 

Leuthold  paused.  Ernestine's  vague  look  of  wonder 
reminded  him  that  his  habit  of  speech  had  carried  him 
too  far  for  the  comprehension  of  a  child.  Nevertheless, 
it  excited  him  to  hear  his  own  voice  speaking  thus  once 
more,  and  his  gray  eyes  glittered  strangely  as  he  ob- 
served the  effect  of  his  words,  only  half  understood  as 
they  were,  upon  Ernestine. 

"  Has  the  pastor  told  me  falsehoods,  then?"  she  asked 
at  last. 

"  He  did  not  lie  intentionally.  He  is  a  very  narrow- 
minded  man,  and  knows  no  better.  He  is  not  one  of  the 
deceivers,  but  of  the  deceived." 

"  But  he  is  the  wisest  man  in  the  village,"  Ernestine 
objected. 

"  In  the  village,  yes !  But  do  you  think  him  wiser 
than  your  uncle  ?" 

"  No,  certainly  not !"  she  whispered  almost  inaudibly. 
It  seemed  to  her  a  crime  to  think  a  common  man  wiser 
than  the  pastor. 

"  Well,  then,  let  me  tell  you  that  he  is  not  nearly  as 
clever  as  you  are!" 

"Uncle  !"  exclaimed  Ernestine  alarmed. 

"I  tell  you  the  truth,  my  child.  You  are  now  very 
young ;  but,  when  you  are  as  old  as  the  pastor,  you  will 

10* 


114  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

know  much  more  than  he  does,  and  take  a  very  different 
view  of  things." 

"Are  you  in  earnest,  uncle  ?"  Ernestine  asked  eagerly, 
for  this  first  flattery  had  not  failed  in  its  effect.  "  Do  you 
think  I  can  ever  be  as  clever  as  a  man  ?" 

"  Most  certainly  !  Unless  I  greatly  err,  you  will  be 
something  distinguished,  one  of  these  days !" 

Ernestine  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed,  looking  at  her  uncle 
with  sparkling  eyes.  Her  pale  face  flushed,  her  breath 
came  quick.  Ambition  kindled  in  her  childish  nature  to 
a  burning  flame.  The  fuel  had  been  gathering  there  since 
her  first  contact  with  those  who  had  treated  her  with 
contempt.  Now  the  spark  had  fallen,  and  she  was  all 
aglow  with  the  insidious  fire  which  gradually  consumes 
the  whole  being  unless  some  terrible  misfortune  bursts 
open  the  floodgates  of  tears  to  quench  the  unhallowed 
flame. 

Leuthold  gazed,  not  without  secret  admiration  and 
delight,  at  the  illuminated  and  inspired  countenance  of 
the  child.  Thus,  thus  he  would  have  her  look  !  He 
leaned  towards  her,  and  held  out  his  hand.  She  grasped 
it  fervently. 

"Uncle,"  she  said  with  childish  emphasis,  "will  you 
help  me  to  be  as  clever  and  to  learn  as  much  as  a  man  ? 
Will  you  teach  me  the  sciences  which  you  said  would 
make  men  so  strong?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Leuthold  with  seeming  enthusiasm,  "I 
will,  indeed." 

"Promise  me,  dear  uncle." 

"  I  promise  you  with  all  my  heart  that  I  will  teach 
you  as  no  woman  has  ever  been  taught  before, — that  I 
will  guide  and  direct  you  until  you  have  soared  far  above 
the  rest  of  your  sex.  But  you  must  be  diligent,  and  dis- 
card all  desires  but  the  desire  of  knowledge." 

"  Oh,  I  will,  dearest  uncle.  Why  should  I  not?  What 
else  can  I  wish  for?  I  do  not  want  to  play  with  other 
children, — they  laugh  at  me.  I  am  too  ugly  and  grave 
for  them.  I  will  live  alone,  and  learn  with  you  ;  and 
one  day,  when  I  know  more  than  they,  I  will  shame 
them.  "Oh,  that  will  be  fine  !" 

"  But  I  hope,  my  child,  that  you  will  remember  your 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  115 

promise,  and  not  tell  any  one  what  I  have  said  to  you 
to-night." 

"  Not  any  one  ?  not  even  Hcrr  Heim  ?" 

"  Not  for  the  world.  If  I  should  find  that  you  cannot 
hold  your  tongue,  I  will  teach  you  nothing,  and  you  will 
be  as  ignorant  as  those  who  laugh  at  you." 

"  No,  uncle,  I  will  never  tell  anything ;  I  will  not, 
indeed  I"  Ernestine  cried.  "  But  tell  me  one  thing, — are 
there  really  no  angels,  then  ?" 

"Angels!"  and  her  uncle  smiled.  "Of  what  use  has 
been  all  that  I  have  just  said  to  you,  if  you  can  seriously 
ask  such  a  question  ?" 

"  Then  I  have  no  guardian  angel !"  said  the  child,  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  And  I  loved  my  guardian 
angel  so  dearly  I" 

"My  child,"  replied  Leuthold,  "you  are  your  own 
guardian  angel.  Your  own  strong  mind  will  shield  you 
from  all  danger  far  better  than  any  such  imaginary  crea- 
ture with  wings." 

Ernestine  was  silent.  She  must  take  care  of  herself, 
then.  But  she  felt  so  weak  and  broken  ;  how  should  she 
be  supported  unless  she  could  lean  upon  some  higher 
power  ?  No  guardian  angel,  no  father,  no  mother,  not 
even  their  spirits  1  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  sud- 
denly standing  alone,  without  prop  or  stay,  upon  a 
rocky  peak,  with  a  yawning  abyss  just  at  her  feet.  The 
moment  would  come  when  she  must  fall  headlong.  Then 
there  arose  before  her  the  last  hope  of  the  soul  in  utter 
misery, — God !  He  was  all  in  all, — Father  and  guardian 
spirit ;  He  was  love  ;  He  would  not  forsake  her.  Though 
all  else  that  she  had  believed  in  crumbled  to  dust,  He  still 
remained;  she  would  cling  to  Him  with  redoubled  fer- 
vour. She  looked  up  at  her  uncle ;  should  she  tell  him 
her  thoughts  ?  No!  She  could  not  speak  that  sacred  name 
before  Leuthold ;  she  dreaded  the  smile  she  had  seen  in 
the  morning, — she  could  not  tell  why. 

Her  uncle  then  spoke,  and  the  last  drop  of  poison  fell 
into  her  soul.  "  We  have  in  ourselves  everything  that 
modern  religion  has  created  outside  of  ourselves,"  he 
began.  "Angels,  devils,  God — "  Ernestine  started  and 
shrank, — "  these  are  all  only  personifications  of  our  good 


116  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

and  evil  qualities.  It  is  only  the  boundless  self-conceit  of 
mankind  that  imagines  that  the  grain  of  reason  that  dis- 
tinguishes them  from  the  brutes  is  something  entirely 
beyond  the  power  of  nature  to  produce, — something  su- 
pernatural, immortal,  divine, — and  that  there  must  be, 
enthroned  somewhere  above  the  universe,  an  omnipotent 
being,  who  is  in  direct  communication  with  us  and  has 
nothing  to  do  but  to  busy  himself  with  our  very  important 
personal  affairs  1  This  belief  in  God,  with  all  its  apparent 
humility  and  submission,  is  the  veriest  offspring  of  the  van- 
ity and  arrogance  of  mankind,  and  all  worship  of  God,  my 
child,  is,  in  fact,  only  worship  of  self.  True  humility  is  to 
acknowledge  that  we  are  no  '  emanation  from  the  Divine 
Essence,' as  theosophists  phrase  it,  but  only  nature's  mas- 
terpieces, and  that  we  can  claim  no  higher  destiny  than 
that  common  to  the  myriad  forms  of  being  that  bear 
their  part  in  the  universal  whole." 

Ernestine  had  sunk  back  among  her  pillows, — she  felt 
annihilated  ;  there  was  no  longer  any  God  for  her ! 

Her  uncle  arose,  for  two  o'clock  had  just  been  tolled 
from  the  belfry  of  the  village  church.  He  did  not  fail  to 
observe  the  terrible  impression  that  his  words  had  made 
upon  Ernestine.  He  took  her  hand ;  she  withdrew  it 
from  his  grasp.  He  smiled.  "  You  are  sorry,  are  you 
not,  to  give  up  everything  that  your  childish  mind  has 
believed  in  so  firmly  ?  I  can  easily  understand  it.  But,  Er- 
nestine, your  powers  of  mind  are  too  great  to  allow  yo.u  to 
find  consolation  for  any  length  of  time  in  such  delusions. 
Be  sure  that  sooner  or  later  you  would  have  extricated 
yourself  from  such  bondage,  as  the  expanding  flower  throws 
off  the  confining  hull.  You  have  been  ill,  and  your  physical 
weakness  has  depressed  your  mental  energy ;  but,  when 
you  are  well  and  strong  again,  you  will  rejoice  proudly 
in  the  consciousness  that  you  are  a  free,  irresponsible 
being,  not  dependent  upon  the  will  and  the  doubtful  jus- 
tice of  a  fancied  Jehovah.  Study  yourself,  my  child ; 
in  yourself  lies  your  future.  Believe  in  yourself,  and 
plant  your  hopes  deeply  in  your  faith  in  yourself.  I  will 
leave  you  now  to  sleep ;  and  I  am  sure  that  to-morrow 
I  shall  find  you  a  little  philosopher." 

Long  after  her  uncle  had  left  the  room  and  Rieka  had 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  Hf 

retired  upon  tiptoe  to  bed  in  the  adjoining  apartment,  fully 
convinced  that  her  charge  was  sleeping,  Ernestine  was 
wide  awake.  She  lay  perfectly  motionless,  as  if  shat- 
tered in  every  limb.  She  stirred  for  the  first  time  when 
Rieka  had  extinguished  the  light,  so  that  no  ray  came 
through  the  open  door.  Then  the  child  drew  a  deep 
breath,  and  stretched  her  arms  out  into  the  darkness  as  if 
to  clasp  the  forms  of  her  vanished  faith  ;  but  her  arms 
encountered  only  the  empty  air.  There  was  no  more 
pitiable  creature  upon  earth  than  she  at  that  moment. 
What  is  left  for  a  child  without  father  or  mother,  who 
has  lost  her  guai'dian  angel  and  her  God  ?  She  is  a  bird 
fallen  from  the  nest,  stripped  by  cruelty  of  its  wings  and 
left  living  on  the  ground.  The  child's  foreboding  soul, 
precociously  matured  by  misfortune,  felt  the  entire  weight 
of  her  desolation;  and  she  hid  her  face  in  the  pillow,  that 
Rieka  might  not  hear  the  convulsive  sobs  wrung  from 
the  depths  of  her  misery.  The  tears  which  she  poured 
forth  for  her  vanished  God  were  all  that  her  uncle  had 
left  her, — the  only  prayer  that  she  was  capable  of.  She 
longed  to  pray — but  could  not  in  words.  "  He  does  not 
hear  me  !  He  does  not  live  !"she  cried  to  herself;  and  the 
hot  tears  burst  forth  again,  and  she  wept  in  agony.  And, 
as  she  wept,  her  heart  grew  soft  and  tender,  and  as  the 
Crucified,  after  he  had  been  laid  in  the  tomb,  was  pres- 
ent invisibly  among  his  disciples,  so  the  God  who  had 
just  been  buried  away  from  her  mind  came  to  life  again 
in  her  heart;  she  did  not  hear  nor  see  him,  but  she  felt 
his  presence,  and  it  gave  her  strength  to  pray.  She  kneeled 
in  her  bed,  folded  her  hands,  and  cried  inwardly:  "  Dear 
God,  let  me  keep  my  belief  in  Thee  —  if  Thou  art  and 
canst  hear  me — "  — that  terrible  "if"  intruded.  She 
paused  to  ponder  upon  it.  And  then  there  was  an  end 
to  her  fervent  prayer,  and  God  vanished  again. 

Thus  the  struggle  between  faith  and  doubt  continued 
feverishly,  and  her  soul  thirsted  for  love  as  did  her 
parched  lips  for  water.  Where  was  there  a  kind,  gentle 
hand  to  oft'er  her  a  cooling  draught,  and  with  it  the  kiss 
that  should  refresh  her  thirsty  soul, — such  a  hand  as  only 
a  mother  has?  Ernestine  gazed  out  into  the  darkness. 
Her  breath  came  in  gasps,  her  heart  beat  audibly,  but 


118  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

no  more  kindly  tears  came  to  her  burning  eyes.  "  0 
God  !  my  God!  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?"  was  the  last 
moan  of  her  tortured  heart;  and  then  she  sank  into  a 
feverish  slumber. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

DEPARTURE. 

THE  autumnal  gales  had  stripped  the  leaves  from  the 
trees ;  the  tall  firs  in  the  forest,  bordering  the  spacious 
brown  fields  of  the  Hartwich  estate,  were  the  only  green 
on  the  landscape.  Over  the  cheerless  desert  plain  wan- 
dered a  lonely  little  figure,  pale  and  sad  as  Heine's  Last 
Fairy.  Ernestine  had  so  far  recovered  that  she  was  once 
more  able  to  brave  the  autumn  wind.  She  extended  her 
arms,  and  could  not  help  imagining  that  they  might  be- 
come wings,  that  would  bear  her  far,  far  aloft.  She  knew 
it  could  never  really  be  so  ;  but  the  thought  was  so  de- 
lightful !  Up,  up,  far  away  from  the  earth, — it  was  so 
sad  upon  the  earth.  She  was  a  stranger  here,  and  she 
felt  that  her  home  must  be  elsewhere.  In  heaven?  Oh, 
there  was  no  heaven ;  but  in  the  air — at  least,  in  the  air. 
And  she  ran  on — ran  as  fast  as  she  could — and  her  heart 
throbbed  with  excitement  as  the  wind  whistled  in  her 
ears  and  tossed  her  clothes  about,  and  her  hair. 

An  insatiable  yearning — she  knew  not  for  what — had 
driven  her  out  of  the  house — she  knew  not  whither. 
There  was  nothing  for  her  to  crave  for,  and  yet  she  could 
not  help  it.  She  thought  she  should  die  of  longing! 
She  wished  she  could  dissolve  into  foam,  like  the  little 
mermaid,  that  the  daughters  of  the  air  might  bear  her 
aloft  into  endless  space  !  And  she  stood  still  and  gazed 
up  into  the  gray  clouds,  and  took  a  long  breath.  There 
was  no  longer  anything  there  for  her  to  aspire  to,  and  she 
had  not  yet  learned  to  look  within.  One  vast  void  around 
and  above  her,  and  forth  into  this  immense  void  she  was 
driven! 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  119 

At  last  she  reached  the  woods,  and  stood  beneath  the 
dark  firs,  in  whose  boughs  the  wind  was  wildly  roaring. 
It  was  the  last  time  that  she  should  stand  thus  among 
these  familiar  scenes,  for  on  the  following  day  she  was 
to  set  out  with  her  uncle  for  the  south,  that  she  might 
escape  the  northern   winter.      She  was  sorry,   for  she 
clung  to  her  home,  bleak  as  it  had  been.     She  must  have 
something  to  cling  to  I     She   had  looked  forward  with 
pleasure  to  the  ice  and  snow ;  the  glittering  form  of  the 
snow-queen  in  the  fairy  book — the  creature  of  Andersen's 
Northern  fancy — had  transfigured  winter  for  her.     Like 
little  Kay,  she  had  lost  all  delight  in  life,  and,  like  him, 
she  was  perplexed  in  spirit  at  the  word  "eternity."     But 
she  could  not  help  loving  the  winter  and  the  solitude  of 
her  retired  home.     She  walked  on  fearlessly,  beneath  the 
whistling  of  the  wind,  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  forest, 
until,  without  knowing  how,  she  emerged  on  the  other 
side,  and  stood  under  the  oak  where  she  had  first  seen 
Johannes.     The   bough,  now  entirely  dead,  which  had 
broken  beneath  her  when  she  was  trying  to  escape  from 
him,  still  hung  there.     There,  too,  was  the  spot  where  he 
had  given  her  the  book — the  wonderful  book — that  had 
peopled  her  fancy  with  such  lovely  forms.     And  yet  that 
interview  with  Johannes  seemed  in  her  memory  far  more 
like  enchantment  than  any  fairy-tale,  and  she  stood  still, 
sunk  in  a  reverie,  until  a  furious  blast  of  wind  tore  at  the 
boughs  of  the  majestic  tree  as  if  it  longed  to  tear  it  down 
and  scatter  its  fragments  through  the    forest.     With  a 
crash,  the  broken  bough,  only  attached  hitherto  to  the 
trunk  by  a  slender  hold,  was  hurled  to  the  ground,  and 
the  wind  wailed   on  through  the  bure  branches  in  the 
forest    depths.      Ernestine     looked    up    startled.      The 
boughs  rustled  and  creaked,  and  the  scared  ravens  flew 
croaking  hither  and  thither.    Again  the  blast  swept  howl- 
ing across  the  plain,  slowly,  but  with  a  mighty  swell  in 
its  roar,  towards  the  wood,  and  again  it   stormed   and 
raved   in  its    first   fury  about   the  isolated   oak,   which 
trembled  and   shook  to  its  centre.     But  Ernestine  was 
startled  only  for  an  instant;  she  was  used  to  the  blasts 
of  a  northern  October,  and  she  took  delight  in  this  wild 
might  of  nature.     It  was  almost  as  if  she  herself  were 


120  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

shaking  the  tree,  and  splitting  its  branches  with  her  own. 
hands.  The  exultation  of  a  Titan  in  the  breast  of  a  crea- 
ture woven  as  it  were  out  of  moonlight  and  lily-leaves ! 
Only  a  divinely-related  spirit  could  have  had  such 
thoughts  in  so  delicate  a  form, — a  spirit  that  fraternized 
with  the  elements,  and,  in  an  intoxication  of  delight, 
forgot  the  frail  casket  in  which  it  was  confined. 

Singing  strange,  wild  songs,  the  child,  with  her  wonted 
agility,  climbed  the  tree  that  had  grown  so  dear  to 
her,  and  cradled  herself  exultingly  amid  its  tossing 
branches.  She  ascended  to  the  topmost  boughs,  and 
gazed  far  over  forest  and  plain ;  and  the  more  the  creaking 
branches  were  tossed  to  and  fro  as  she  clung  to  them, 
the  wilder  grew  her  delight.  It  was  almost  flying — to 
hover,  thus  hidden,  above  the  earth !  She  kissed  the 
bough  by  which  she  held,  and  as  she  saw  the  young 
branches  breaking  here  and  there  beneath  her,  and  the 
hurricane  raged  so  that  it  almost  took  away  her  breath, 
she  looked  up  with  inspired  eyes,  and  whispered  involun- 
tarily, "  It  is  the  breath  of  God  !"  Suddenly  she  distin- 
guished a  sound  as  of  human  footsteps,  and  a  shout  came 
up  through  the  roar  of  the  blast.  She  thought  of  the 
handsome  stranger  youth!  Could  it  be  he — come  to 
take  her  down  from  the  tree  ?  An  inexplicable  mixture 
of  joy  and  dread  took  possession  of  her.  Was  it  he  ? 
Would  he  stretch  out  his  arms  to  her  again  ?  But  it  was 
not  he.  A  chill  struck  to  her  heart,  and  a  shade  gathered 
over  the  landscape.  It  was  her  uncle  !  "  Ernestine,"  he 
called  to  her,  "  thoughtless  child  !  How  you  terrify  me  ! 
Running  to  the  woods  and  climbing  trees  in  such  a  storm  ! 
You  might  kill  yourself!  Come  down,  I  entreat  you  !" 

"  Let  me  stay  here,  uncle ;  I  like  it  so  much !"  Ernes- 
tine begged. 

"  I  must  seriously  desire  you  to  come  with  me.  What 
would  people  say  if  I  allowed  you  to  be  out  in  such 
weather  ?  Be  good  enough  to  do  as  I  tell  you." 

Ernestine  cast  one  more  silent  glance  over  her  beloved 
forest,  and  then,  with  a  saddened  face,  began  to  descend. 
When  she  reached  the  spot  where  the  boug-h  had  IHTII 
broken,  and  whence  Johannes  had  rescued  her,  she  broke 
off  a  couple  of  withered  leaves,  hid  them  in  her  dress, 


OR  A   PHYSrCrAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  121 

and  slipped  down  the  trunk  lightly  as  a  shadow.  She 
turned  to  her  uncle.  All  her  delight  had  vanished;  she 
was  upon  the  earth  once  more,  and  her  uncle's  cold,  keen 
eye  disenchanted  her  utterly.  Her  look  was  downcast ; 
she  felt  almost  ashamed.  If  he  knew  that  she  had  just 
been  thinking  of  God,  he  would  despise  her.  But  why 
could  she  believe  in  God  again  while  she  was  up  there, 
and  not  when  she  was  down  here  with  her  uncle? 

She  walked  on  without  a  word  by  Leuthold's  side, 
glancing  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  never  heeding 
how  the  wind  was  well-nigh  tearing  her  dress  from  her 
back.  She  did  not  want  to  fly  any  more, — she  longed  for 
nothing  ; — when  her  uncle  was  by,  she  was  ashamed  of 
every  emotion.  When  she  came  to  the  place  where  the 
path  leading  to  her  home  diverged  from  the  road  to  the 
village,  she  asked  permission  of  Leuthold  to  go  and  say 
farewell  at  the  parsonage.  After  some  hesitation,  he 
granted  it,  and  went  on  alone.  Ernestine  hurried  along 
the  well-known  road.  The  village  children  shouted  after 
her,  "  Halloo,  there  goes  Hartwich's  Tina, — proud  Tina, 
with  the  whey  face !"  She  paid  no  heed  to  them, — she 
felt  herself  above  the  jeers  of  such  creatures.  With  a 
beating  heart  she  reached  the  parsonage  ;  then  she  sud- 
denly stood  still.  What  did  she  want  here?  To  bid 
good-by  to  the  pastor  and  his  wife  !  But  if  the  good 
old  man  should  admonish  her  to  love  and  fear  God,  as  he 
was  so  apt  to  do  ?  Or  if  he  should  ask  her  if  she  be- 
lieved in  God?  What  should  she, — what  could  she 
answer  him  ?  Could  she,  doubter,  apostate  that  she  was, 
enter  the  presence  of  the  servant  of  God  without  placing 
herself  at  the  bar  of  judgment,  or  without  lying?  She 
stood  like  a  penitent,  not  daring  to  enter  the  door  which 
had  been  so  often  flung  open  to  her.  Twice  she  put  her 
hand  upon  the  bell-handle  and  did  not  pull  it.  She  knew 
that  the  old  man  would  be  grieved  if  she  went  away 
without  bidding  him  farewell ;  but  she  also  knew  that  he 
would  be  still  more  deeply  pained  could  he  guess  at  her 
present  state  of  mind.  Perhaps  he  might  despise  her 
then;  she  could  not  bear  that;  and,  just  as  she  was 
ashamed  of  her  faith  when  her  uncle  was  with  her,  she 
was  now  ashamed  of  her  doubts.  How  often  had  the 

11 


122  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

pastor  told  her  it  was  a  sin  to  doubt !  she  had  committed 
— nay,  was  now  committing — this  sin.  No,  her  guilty 
conscience  would  not  let  her  meet  his  eye,  or  kiss  the 
soft,  gently  folded  hands  of.his  wife.  She  slipped  past 
the  house,  so  that  no  one  could  see  her,  and  went  into 
the  grave-yard,  where  it  was  quiet  and  lonely  and  she 
could  hide  her  guilty  little  heart  upon  her  parents'  graves. 
She  knelt  down  beside  them,  and  longed  for  tears  to  re- 
lieve her ;  but  no  blessing  arose  from  the  graves  over 
which  no  spirits  hovered,  but  which  covered,  as  her  uncle 
Leuthold  had  told  her,  nothing  but  bones.  And  yet  she 
so  longed  to  do  penance  for  all  her  doubts.  "  If  I  could 
only  have  faith  again  this  minute,  and  pray  God  to  for- 
give me,  I  could  go  in  and  see  the  pastor,"  she  thought. 
She  looked  around  her,  not  knowing  what  to  do  ; — there 
was  the  church,  and  the  doors  were  open.  She  would 
go  into  the  house  of  God  ;  perhaps  in  that  sacred  place 
she  might  find  again  what  she  had  lost.  In  profound 
self-abasement  the  child  entered,  threw  herself  upon  her 
knees  before  the  altar,  and  closed  her  eyes.  "  Now,  now 
I  can  pray  I"  she  thought;  but,  just  as  upon  that  terrible 
night  when  she  was  robbed  of  her  religion  and  peace  of 
mind,  devotion  seemed  near  her,  but  to  be  eluding  her 
clasp.  There  lay  the  guiltless  little  penitent,  her  soul 
full  of  piety,  but  unable  to  pray, — her  heart  full  of  tears, 
but  unable  to  weep.  She  sprang  up  in  despair.  God 
was  not  here  either.  She  had  thought  she  heard  him  in 
the  tempest,  and  that  the  wind  was  his  breath, — but  on 
the  way  home  her  uncle  had  explained  to  her  that  it  was 
nothing  but  a  current  of  air  occasioned  by  the  change  of 
temperature  on  the  earth's  surface,  or  by  violent  showers 
of  rain,  and  she  was  convinced  that  she  had  been  wrong 
and  that  her  uncle  knew  very  much  more  than  the  pastor. 
But  if  she  believed  her  uncle,  she  could  not  believe  in 
God ;  it  was  not  her  fault,  and  yet  this  doubt  weighed 
upon  her  as  the  first  crime  of  her  life.  Her  trusting  soul 
was  like  the  iron  that  glows  long  after  the  fire  in  which 
it  was  heated  is  quenched  ;  her  faith  was  extinguished, 
but  the  influence  that  her  faith  had  exerted  upon  her 
endured  and  became  her  punishment.  It  began  to  grow 
dark ;  yet  still  she  stood  with  head  bowed  and  downcast 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  123 

eyes  beside  the  wooden  crucifix  upon  the  tomb  of  her 
parents.  The  Christ  who  had.  been  nailed  to  the  cross 
for  the  sake  of  what  her  uncle  called  an  illusion,  seemed 
to  regard  her  so  reproachfully  that  she  did  not  dare  to 
look  up  at  him  ;  he  had  shed  his  precious  blood  for  the 
faith  which  she  denied  ;  she  almost  thought  he  would 
tear  away  the  hand  nailed  to  the  cross  and  extend  it  in 
menace  towards  her.  An  inexplicable  shudder  ran  through 
her  ;  again  she  fell  upon  her  knees. 

"  Forgive,  forgive !"  she  cried  ;  and  the  tears  burst 
forth  and  relieved  the  icy  pressure  upon  her  heart. 

Then  something  grasped  her  shoulder  and  raised  her 
from  the  ground.  Was  it  her  uncle,  or  the  foul  fiend, 
who  was  standing  beside  her  ? 

"  You  are  here,  then,"  he  sneered,  "  in  the  dark,  kneel- 
ing and  weeping.  Aha!  I  came  to  look  for  my  quiet 
little  philosopher,  and  I  find  a  whimpering  child  praying 
to  a  wooden  doll  1  Can  you  tell  me  where  Ernestine 
Hartwich  is  ?" 

"  Uncle,"  cried  Ernestine,  driven  to  defiance  in  her 
despair,  "  why  do  you  persecute  me  so  continually  to- 
day ?  Can  I  not  be  alone  for  one  hour  ?  and  must  I 
give  an  account  of  every  thought  and  word?  You  have 
taken  from  me  everything  in  which  I  confided, — you 
have  come  between  myself  and  God,  so  that  I  dare  not 
go  to  the  pastor,  but  must  slip  round  his  house  as  if  I 
were  a  thief.  Do  you  think  all  this  does  not  pain  me,  and 
that  I  feel  no  remorse  ?  Whatever  you  may  teach  me,  I 
shall  never  be  happy  again.  Why  did  you  tell  me  there 
were  no  spirits,  no  angels,  no  God  ?  I  did  not  wish  to 
know  it.  I  loved  God,  and,  however  wretched  I  was,  I 
could  always  hope  that  he  would  be  kind  and  merciful  to 
me;  if  no  human  being  loved  me,  I  could  always  think 
that  he  did.  And  now  I  must  bear  everything  that 
happens  to  me,  hoping  nothing  and  loving  nothing, — no 
one, — not  even  you  !" 

Leuthold  smiled,  and  stroked  Ernestine's  curls. 

"  I  see  now  that  I  was  wrong  in  treating  a  girl 
twelve  years  old  like  a  boy  of  twenty.  Too  strong  nour- 
ishment will  not  strengthen  an  invalid, — he  cannot  bear 
it ;  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that,  and  not  burdened 


124  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

your  girlish  brain  with  so  much.  I  can  understand  your 
dislike  of  me  as  the  innocent  cause  of  your  mental  indi- 
gestion, and  forgive  you  for  it.  Pardon  me  for  over- 
estimating your  intellect, — it  is  my  only  injustice  towards 
you." 

Ernestine  stood  gloomily  beside  him,  without  a  word  ; 
he  could  not  guess  what  was  passing  in  her  mind. 

"  I  will  leave  you  here,  my  dear  child.  Pray  on, — you 
need  fear  no  further  disturbance.  Go,  kiss  the  feet  of 
your  Christ, — it  will  relieve  your  heart.  Go,  Ernestine; 
or  are  vou  embarrassed  by  my  presence  ?  Shall  I  walk 
away?"  Well!" 

He  turned  as  if  to  go ;  but  Ernestine  held  fast  to  his 
arm. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  she  said  sullenly.  "  I  could 
not  pray  now  if  I  tried.  And  I  am  not  so  stupid  as  you 
think  me.  I  understood  everything  that  you  have  taught 
me,  and  I  do  not  believe  any  longer  in — in — the  other. 
What  else  do  you  require?  One  can  cry  without  being 
thought  silly ;  and  I  tell  you  I  shall  cry  far  oftener  than 
I  shall  laugh.  Oh,  I  shall  cry  all  my  life  long!" 

And  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

"  You  are  nervous,  my  child.  These  tears  come  from 
mere  bodily  weakness.  In  a  few  years  you  will  smile  at 
what  causes  them  now.  Do  not  be  troubled  that  you 
cannot  love  any  one, — not  even  me.  All  such  childish 
things  are  left  behind  in  the  nursery.  Whoever  will  be 
truly  free  must  begin  by  standing  alone.  Every  tie  that 
links  our  heart  to  others,  however  lovable  they  may  be, 
is  a  fetter.  Whoever  will  be  strong  must  cease  to  lean 
on  others.  Love  knowledge  alone, — all  living  things 
can  be  taken  from  you,  and  your  love  for  them  is  a  source 
of  pain.  Science  is  always  yours, — an  inexhaustible  source 
of  delight.  Men  are  unjust.  They  will  estimate  you  not 
according  to  your  mental  powers,  but  your  exterior  ad- 
vantages, and  these  are  too  trivial  to  gain  their  homage. 
Science  gives  you  your  deserts, — she  measures  her  gifts 
according  to  your  diligence.  Women  will  envy  you  ;  for 
your  intellect  will  far  oiitsoar  theirs.  Men  will  slight 
you ;  for  you  are  not,  and  never  will  be,  beautiful,  and 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  125 

they  require  beauty  beyond  all  else  in  a  woman.  You 
will  meet  with  nothing  but  disappointment  among  your 
kind,  if  you  are  not  resolved  to  expect  nothing  from  them. 
If  you  would  avoid  every  grief  that  they  can  cause  you, 
learn  early  not  to  depend  upon  them  ;  and  to  this  end, 
science,  the  culture  of  the  mind,  alone  can  lead  you.  In- 
tellect will  indemnify  us  for  all  the  woes  and  necessities 
of  humanity, — through  it  we  can  rise  to  the  true  dignity 
of  our  nature.  Therefore,  my  child,  seek  out  the  true 
nourishment  for  the  intellect,  and  the  blind  instincts  of 
your  heart  will  soon  die  in  the  clear  light  of  the  mind. 
You  long  for  peace ;  trust  me,  it  is  to  be  found  only  in 
your  mind,  not  in  love." 

Ernestine  walked  silently  beside  her  uncle.  Her  eyes 
gleamed  strangely  in  the  twilight  as  she  looked  up  at 
him.  She  did  not  understand  all  that  he  said.  But  there 
came  an  icy  chill  from  his  words,  and  it  was  owing  to 
him  that  her  feverish  excitement  of  mind  was  allayed. 
Soft  and  gently  as  falling  snow  in  the  night,  his  words 
had  fallen  into  her  mind,  and,  without  her  knowledge, 
hidden  the  last  blossoms  of  faith  there  under  a  thick, 
cold  pall.  Beneath  it  her  young  heart  grew  torpid;  and 
she  took  this  quiet,  painless  sleep  for  peace. 

When  they  reached  home,  they  found  the  Staatsrathin's 
carriage  before  the  door. 

"Uncle,"  said  Ernestine  alarmed  and  disturbed,  "  go 
in  and  see  if  it  is  the  Frau  Staatsrathin  herself, — if  it  is, 
I  would  rather  stay  outside." 

At  this  moment  little  Angelika  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  called  Ernestine  by  name  in  a  tone  of  delight. 
There  was  no  help  for  it.  Ernestine  had  to  go  in  and 
encounter,  to  her  distress,  the  majestic  figure  of  the 
Staatsrathin.  The  great  lady  acknowledged  Leuthold's 
low  bow  by  a  slight  inclination  of  her  head,  and  held 
out  her  hand  to  Ernestine. 

"  You  have  avoided  me  hitherto,  my  child.  Have  I, 
without  intending  it,  done  anything  to  pain  you?" 

Ernestine  stood  silent  in  confusion.  She  could  not 
have  told,  even  had  she  wished  to  do  so,  what  the  kind 
Staatsriithiu  had  done  to  her,  for  she  did  not  know  her- 
self what  it  was.  She  could  not  understand,  in  herchild- 

11* 


126  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

ish  inexperience,  that  it  was  her  sense  of  shame  at  her 
own  insufficiency  that  embarrassed  her  iu  the  Frau 
Staatsrathin's  presence. 

The  lady's  eyes  rested  kindly  upon  the  shadowy  little 
figure.  She  stroked  the  child's  thick,  short  curls,  and 
then  turned  to  Leuthold,  while  Angelika,  who  had  a 
large  doll  in  her  arms,  drew  Ernestine  away  to  a  deep 
window-seat. 

"  My  object  here  to-day,  Herr  Doctor,  is  to  arrange  a 
pressing  matter  of  business  with  you  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  Madam,"  said  Leuthold  bowing,  "  I  feel  much  hon- 
oured. May  I  offer  you  one  of  these  clumsy  chairs?  or 
will  you  have  the  kindness  to  go  up  with  me  to  my 
own  apartments,  where  I  can  receive  you  in  a  more  tit- 
ting  manner  ?" 

The  Staatsrathin  glanced  towards  the  children. 

"  I  would  like  to  speak  to  you  alone  for  a  few  moments, 
Herr  Doctor." 

"  Then,  madam,  let  me  request  you  to  accompany  me." 
With  these  words  Leuthold  opened  the  door. 

"  Angelika,"  the  Staatsrathin  said  to  the  child,  "  stay 
with  Ernestine  until  I  come  back." 

She  went  up-stairs  with  Leuthold ;  and,  when  seated 
upon  the  couch  in  his  study,  she  could  not  but  observe 
the  comfortable,  cosy  arrangement  of  the  room,  the  deli- 
cate cleanliness  and  order  reigning  in  it;  while  upon  the 
table  before  her  lay  several  exercise-books  labelled  "  Ernes- 
tine von  Hartwich."  Involuntarily  she  was  inspired  with 
a  kind  of  confidence  in  the  grave,  elegant  man  who  had 
received  her  with  so  much  grace.  She  inspected  him 
with  the  experienced  eyes  of  a  woman  of  the  world.  His 
bearing  was  blameless,  and  his  regular  features  bore  an 
unmistakably  intellectual  stamp.  Far-sighted  and  clever 
as  the  Staatsrathin  was,  she  was  too  much  of  a  woman 
not  to  be  impressed  by  the  good  taste  in  Leuthold's  appear- 
ance and  manner,  and  she  was  inclined'  to  think  Helm's 
estimate  of  him  as  somewhat  unjust.  She  did  not  belong 
to  the  class  of  women  ready  to  be  imposed  upon  by  a 
small  hand  with  filbert-shaped,  carefully-kept  nails;  but 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  127 

the  refinement  of  Leuthold's  person  and  surroundings 
was  very  agreeable  in  her  eyes. 

"  The  neatness  and  order  that  I  see  here  surprise  me, 
Herr  Doctor,"  she  began,  as  Leuthold  seated  himself 
opposite  her ;  "  for  I  hear  that  your  wife  is  not  with  you 
at  present." 

"  No,  madam,  I  am  alone ;  but  I  have  an  acute  sense 
of  fitness  in  exterior  arrangements,  and  probably  pay 
more  attention  to  such  things  than  is  quite  becoming  in 
a  man." 

"  Will  your  wife's  absence  be  of  long  duration  ?"  asked 
the  Staatsriithin  with  interest. 

A  shadow  passed  over  Leuthold's  countenance.  "  I 
fear,  yes,  madam.  My  wife,  unfortunately,  had  not 
sufficient  aS'ection  for  our  child  and  myself  to  endure  the 
deprivations  to  which  the  disappointment  of  our  hopes 
of  an  inheritance  from  my  brother  subjected  us.  She 
returned  to  her  father  for  an  indefinite  time,  and,  as  she 
has  succeeded  in  keeping  away  now  from  .  her  little 
daughter  for  two  mouths,  I  have  great  doubts  of  her 
return." 

"But  that  is  very  sad  for  you,  Herr  Doctor," remarked 
the  Staatsriithin. 

Leuthold  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  "  It  is  sad 
indeed,  madam,  that  I  should  have  made  such  a  choice, — 
that  I  should  have  expended  years  of  love  and  pains  in 
the  attempt  to  cultivate  and  train  a  nature  incapable 
of  culture.  Mine  is  the  same  pain  which  is  experienced 
by  the  sculptor  who  finds  a  serious  flaw  in  the  marble 
upon  which  he  has  spent  years  of  labour.  He  exhausts 
himself  in  the  endeavour  to  shape  it  according  to  his  ideal, 
and,  just  when  he  hopes  for  its  completion,  a  dark  vein  is 
laid  bare  by  his  chisel, — his  work  is  worthless, — he  has 
hoped  and  laboured  in  vain  !" 

The  Staatsriithin  looked  at  him  with  interest.  "That 
is  rather  coldly  put,  and  yet  poetically  conceived,  sir." 

"  An  artist  would  not  call  it  cold,  madam,  for  he  would 
know  how  great  the  suS'ering  is  to  which  I  have  ventured 
to  compare  my  own." 

The  Staatsriithin  assented.  Leuthold's  manner  pleased 
her  more  and  more.  Just  then  Lena  entered,  leading 


128  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Gretchen  by  the  hand,  and  carrying  a  brightly  burnished 
lighted  lamp,  which  she  placed  upon  the  table. 

"Oh,  what  a  charming  child!"  exclaimed  the  Staats- 
rathin in  unfeigned  surprise. 

Her  keenly  observant  eye  noticed  with  pleasure  the 
ray  of  delight  that  illumined  Leuthold's  countenance. 
"  Is  she  not  lovely,  madam  ?"  he  said,  actually  glowing 
with  gratified  vanity.  "  You  do  indeed  delight  the 
heart  of  a  father  who  has  seen  his  child  forsaken  by 
her  own  mother.  Yes,  she  is  a  treasure.  She  has 
the  personal  beauty  that  once  so  attracted  me  in  her 
mother,  and  will,  I  hope,  develop  a  beauty  of  soul  which 
I  failed  to  find  in  her  mother.  She  will,  in  the  future, 
repair  all  that  I  have  lost.  While  I  have  this  daughter, 
I  ask  of  life  nothing  beside." 

The  large-hearted  Staatsrathin  was  completely  won  by 
a  declaration  so  full  of  affection.  "  The  man  that  idolizes 
his  child  thus  cannot  be  worthless,"  she  thought. 

Leuthold  motioned  to  Lena  to  take  Gretchen  away 
again,  and  as  she  did  so  the  Staatsrathin  remarked,  as 
if  casually,  "  There  cannot  be  much  room  in  your  heart, 
filled  as  it  is  with  love  for  such  an  angel,  for  poor,  pale 
little  Ernestine." 

Leuthold  looked  steadily  at  her.  "  Madam,  a  lady 
like  yourself,  whose  loving  heart  finds  room  for  so  many, 
can  hardly  say  that  in  earnest." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  Staatsrathin  ;  "  I  ought  to 
know  how  many  one  can  love  without  defrauding  any  of 
their  due  measure  of  affection.  But  1  am  a  woman,  whose 
vocation  it  is  to  love ;  a  man,  and  a  scholar,  like  your- 
self, is  apt  to  confine  his  regard  to  what  is  nearest  to 
him." 

"  It  is  natural ;  and  I  do  not  deny  that  my  daughter  is 
dearer  to  me  than  my  niece :  nevertheless,  I  think  I  have 
sufficient  affection  for  the  latter  to  satisfy  her  demands 
and  to  enable  me  to  fulfil  all  my  duties  as  guardian.  You 
can  have  no  idea,  madam,  what  anxious  care  the  extraor- 
dinarily precocious  intellect  of  that  child  requires,  and 
what  a  weighty  responsibility  the  training  of  such  an 
uncommon  nature  involves." 

"  I  can  easily  believe  you ;  and  I  am  convinced  that 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  129 

she  could  not  possibly  be  in  better  hands  than  your  own. 
But  Ernestine's  physical  education  must  weigh  heavily 
upon  you  just  at  this  time,  when  you  are  alone.  I  should 
very  much  like  to  relieve  you  somewhat  in  future  of  your 
arduous  duties.  You  leave  to-morrow  for  the  south, 
and  I  cannot  but  rejoice,  for  the  sake  of  Ernestine's  health, 
that  it  is  so.  But  I  hear  that  you  intend  returning  hither  at 
the  end  of  six  months,  to  settle  in  this  part  of  the  country. 
If  this  be  so,  let  me  entreat  you  to  intrust  your  ward  to 
me  every  year  for  some  weeks  or  months, — you  will  need 
some  rest, — when  you  can  give  your  undivided  time  to 
your  daughter.  Will  you  not  allow  me  to  take  this  part 
in  Ernestine's  education  ?" 

Leuthold  bowed.  "  Madam,  you  are  one  of  those  who 
scatter  blessings  wherever  they  appear.  Your  sympathy 
does  me  too  much  honour;  I  am  unworthy  of  it.  There- 
fore let  me  thank  you,  not  for  myself,  but  for  my  niece. 
There  is  another  name,  also,  in  which  I  must  offer  you 
grateful  acknowledgments,  —  that  of  the  unfortunate 
mother  of  the  child.  If  she  could  speak  to  you  from  the 
other  world,  she  would  repay  your  kindness  with  far 
better  thanks  than  my  weak  words  can  convey." 

The  Staatsrathin's  eyes  filled  with  tears ;  she  thought, 
what  would  become  of  her  little  Angelika  without  her 
mother,  and,  touched  to  her  heart,  she  grew  still  more 
reconciled  to  the  strange  man  whose  manner  contrasted 
so  strongly  with  all  she  had  heard  of  him. 

"  Then  you  consent  to  my  plan  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  madam,  that,  when  I  return 
with  Ernestine,  she  shall  stay  with  you  as  long  as  you 
desire." 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  the  Staatsrathin,  surprised  at  this 
ready  assent.  She  was  now  firmly  convinced  that  Heim 
had  done  this  singular  man  great  injustice. 

"  We  have  agreed  so  quickly  in  this  matter,"  the  Staats- 
rathin began  again,  "  that  I  cannot  but  hope  that  I  shall  be 
equally  successful  in  regard  to  the  other  affair  that  brings 
me  here.  I  have  come,  in  fact,  for  the  purpose  of  learn- 
ing whether  you  will  dispose  of  the  Hartwich  estate." 

A  delicate  flush  overspread  Leuthold's  face. 

"  Indeed,  madam,  you  take  me  greatly  by  surprise." 


130  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  You  are  aware  that  my  brother  Neuenstein  has  long 
been  desirous  of  possessing  the  factory  ;  but  serious  losses 
in  another  direction  rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to 
command  the  sum  required  for  the  purchase.  When  I 
found  how  his  heart  was  set  upon  giving  his  son  a  posi- 
tion as  possessor  and  head  of  the  factory,  I  determined, 
with  the  consent  of  my  son  Johannes  and  his  guardians, 
to  furuish  him  with  the  necessary  funds.  Johannes' 
answer  to  my  proposal  has  just  arrived  from  Paris.  He 
entirely  approves  of  my  plan,  and  would  willingly  even 
run  the  risk  of  a  loss  for  his  uncle's  sake." 
•  "  I  really  cannot  tell  which  to  admire  most,  madam, — 
your  determination  and  energy,  or  your  generous  spirit ! 
Happy  the  man  who  has  such  a  sister !" 

"Oh,  I  pray  you  do  not  flatter  me,"  said  the  Staats- 
rathin,  as  a  shade  of  embarrassment  flitted  across  her  face. 
"  Such  things  are  not  worth  mentioning.  I  wish  to  keep 
my  brother  and  my  nephew  near  me ;  and  I  could  not  do 
so  if  they  were  to  buy  property  in  another  part  of  the 
country.  It  is  most  fortunate  that  my  country-seat  is  just 
where  it  is.  My  motive  is  purely  selfish.  As  you  de- 
part early  to-morrow  morning,  we  had  better  arrange 
matters  upon  the  spot.  Then  I  can  lay  the  deed  of  pur- 
chase upon  my  brother's  plate  at  tea  this  evening." 

"A  princely  surprise,"  rejoined  Leuthold,  hastening  to 
his  writing-table  to  make  out  the  necessary  agreement. 
The  transaction  met  his  desires  perfectly,  for  he  wished 
above  all  things  to  be  able  to  reside  in  the  south  with 
Ernestine,  that  he  might  carry  out  his  plans  with  regard 
to  her  education,  far  from  the  scrutiny  of  her  present 
friends;  and,  by  the  disposal  of  this  property,  the  last 
reason  for  ever  returning  to  the  scenes  of  her  childhood 
vanished. 

In  the  mean  time,  Angelika  and  Ernestine  were  sitting 
in  the  window-seat  of  what  was  formerly  the  laundry, 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  Angelika  had  received 
that  very  day  from  her  brother  the  crying  doll  that  she 
had  thought  he  meant  to  bring  her  upon  his  return.  She 
was  beside  herself  with  delight,  and  could  not  imagine  how 
Ernestine  could  be  so  unmoved  by  the  sight  Of  such  a  mir- 
acle of  mechanism.  She  had  made  it  say  "  papa"  and 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  131 

"  mamma,"  and  open  and  shut  its  eyes,  repeatedly.  Er- 
nestine was  entirely  composed  and  cold.  She  declared 
that  the  words  "  papa"  and  "  mamina"  were  not  very  dis- 
tinct, and  that  the  eyelids  made  altogether  too  much  noise 
in  opening  and  shutting. 

Angelika  was  not  at  all  troubled  by  Ernestine's  budding 
misanthropy,  for  she  did  not  observe  it.  But  that  her 
friend  should  not  care  for  dolls,  was  a  bitter  grief  to  the 
little  girl.  "You  will  never  take  any  pleasure  in  dolls 
if  you  do  not  like  this  one,"  she  said. 

"  Why  should  I  take  any  pleasure  in  them  ?"  Ernestine 
said  in  a  tone  of  contempt. 

"What?  Why,  don't  you  know?  I  suppose  you  think 
the  poor  things  do  not  feel  it  when  you  are  unkind  to 
them.  But  mamma  says  they  feel  it  all,  and  don't  like 
it,  although  they  don't  show  it." 

"  Do  you  believe  all  that  your  mother  says  ?"  asked 
Ernestine,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Certainly ;  of  course.  Mamma  always  tells  the  truth." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?" 

Angelika  stared  at  Ernestine.  "  How  ?  Why,  because 
I  do." 

"Yes,  but  who  told  you  so  ?" 

"  No  one;  I  know  it  myself." 

Ernestine  looked  down  and  said  nothing. 

"  I  know  it  myself,"  she  repeated  thoughtfully,  not 
comprehending  why  the  words  struck  her  so  oddly. 
"  But  suppose  she  should  tell  you  what  you  could  not 
believe  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  child  must  always  believe  what  her  mother 
says." 

"  How  if  she  cannot  do  it  ?" 

"  But  she  must !"  cried  Angelika  angrily. 

"  She  must  ?  How  can  we  believe  anything  because  we 
must  ?  It  is  not  possible,"  said  Ernestine,  and  she  thought 
Angelika  very  silly.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that 
the  pastor  was  no  wiser  when  he  said  that  we  must  have 
faith  and  that  it  was  a  sin  not  to  believe.  What  if  you 
could  not, — what  was  the  use  of  that  must? 

"Ernestine,  don't  stare  so  at  nothing,"  said  Angelika, 
interrupting  her  reverie.  "  Just  look  how  straight  my 


132  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

doll  can  sit,  all  alone,  without  anything  to  lean  against ! 
Oh,  just  give  her  one  kiss ;  she  is  your  namesake — I  chris- 
tened her  Ernestine." 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to, — it  is  nothing  but  a  lump  of 
leather,  it  cannot  feel,  and  I  will  not  kiss  anything  that 
is  not  alive  and  does  not  feel !" 

"  Oh,  Ernestine,  don't  say  that.  She  is  not  alive  now, 
but  perhaps  she  may  get  alive.  Mamma  told  me  once  of 
a  man  in  Greece,  called  Pygmalion,  who  made  a  marble 
doll  for  himself,  and  loved  it  so  dearly  that  it  grew  warm 
and  came  to  life.  And  I  believe  that  if  I  should  love  my 
doll  dearly  she  might  get  alive  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  shall 
love  her  very  dearly  !  She  can  say  'papa'  and  '  mamma' 
already,  which  Herr  Pygmalion's  doll  could  not  do  at  all; 
and  in  time  I  shall  perhaps  bring  her  on,  just  as  he  did 
his !" 

And  she  clasped  the  "  lump  of  leather"  to  her  little 
heart,  gazed  tenderly  and  hopefully  into  its  blue  glass 
eyes,  and  was  quite  content. 

Ernestine  looked  at  her  with  mournful  wonder ;  she 
understood  now  that  "  Faith  gives  peace,"  and  she  envied 
the  child  her  happiness. 

"  Would  you  not  rather  have  a  puppy  or  a  kitten  ?" 
she  asked  gently.  "  It  could  eat  and  drink,  and  you 
could  feed  it,  and  it  would  understand  what  was  said  to 
it,  and  run  after  you,  and  love  you  ?  Would  not  that  be 
nicer  ?" 

A  shade  of  sorrow  passed  over  Angelika's  rosy  face, 
like  a  cloud  over  the  sun.  "Oh,"  she  sighed,  "we  have  a 
little  dog ;  but  I  cannot  feed  it ;  it  does  not  eat  nor  drink  1" 

"  Why  not  ?  Is  it  sick  ?" 

"  No  ;  it  is  stuffed." 

Ernestine  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  "  Then  you  have 
no  dog  !" 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  have  !  he  is  called  Assor.  He  only  died, 
and  mamma  had  him  stuffed,  so  that  he  lies  perfectly 
quiet  near  the  fire,  and  never  stirs.  Mamma  says  he  will 
not  come  to  life  again.  Oh,  Ernestine,  it  is  very  sad, — 
when  I  stroke  him,  he  never  licks  my  hand  any  more ! 
I  call  him  hundreds  of  times,  and  he  used  to  turn  his 
pretty  black  head  round  towards  me,  but  he  does  not  do 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  133 

it  now  ;  he  cannot  see  nor  hear  me,  and  he  used  to  love 
me  so  much." 

The  little  girl  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand  and  be- 
gan to  cry. 

Ernestine  tried  to  soothe  her.  "  Your  mother  ought 
to  have  had  the  dog  buried.  Then  you  would  have  for- 
gotten him  and  not  grieved  after  him." 

"  No  1  oh,  no !  I  could  not  have  borne  that.  What ! 
have  the  faithful  old  dog  hidden  in  the  ground  !  It 
would  have  been  too  hard !  He  was  so  faithful ;  he  never 
left  our  side ;  and  when  he  could  hardly  walk,  he  used  to 
creep  out  of  his  basket  to  welcome  us  when  we  came  into 
the  room,  and  when  he  was  dying  in  my  lap,  he  looked 
up  at  me  so  mournfully,  as  if  to  say,  '  I  must  leave  you 
now.'  And  could  I  hide  him  away  and  forget  him  ? 
That  would  be  dreadful.  No,  no  !  he  shall  lie  by  the  fire 
in  the  drawing-room  ;  it  is  far  more  comfortable  there 
than  in  the  cold  ground,  and  I  will  always  think  how 
good  he  was.  And  I'll  tell  you  what, — when  mamma  dies 
she  shall  not  be  buried  either.  I  will  put  her  dressing 
gown  on  her  and  let  her  lie  in  her  soft  bed.  Then  I  will 
pretend  she  is  sick,  and  I  will  sit  by  her  every  day  and 
talk  to  her,  and,  even  if  she  does  not  answer  me,  1  shall 
know  what  she  would  say  if  she  could  speak.  And  if 
she  cannot  kiss  me,  I  will  kiss  her  all  the  more.  That 
will  be  a  great  deal  better  than  to  have  nothing  left  of 
her  ;  will  it  not  ?" 

Ernestine  shook  her  head.  "  That  can't  be  done,  An- 
gelika ;  you  can't  keep  dead  bodies ;  they  decay.  How  can 
you  think  of  such  a  thing  ?" 

"  Ob,  you  say,  'That  can't  be  done,' — you  say,  'That's 
nothing,'  to  everything,  and  spoil  all  my  pleasure ;  I  tell 
you  it  is  very  unkind  of  you !" 

Ernestine  felt  ashamed.  She  had  been  treating  Ange- 
lika  as  her  uncle  Leuthold  treated  herself.  The  child  was 
pained  and  unhappy  when  her  dolls  Were  treated  with 
contempt,  and  her  childish  fancies  not  encouraged  ;  and 
was  she,  Ernestine,  to  endure  without  a  moan  the  utter 
overthrow  of  the  hopes  of  her  entire  existence,  when  her 
uncle  dragged  down  into  the  dust  all  that  she  had  held 

12 


134  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

most  sacred  ?  She  leaned  her  forehead,  heavy  with  the 
weight  of  her  thoughts,  against  the  window-pane,  and 
looked  up  into  the  gray,  storm-lashed  clouds,  through 
which  there  beamed  no  star,  not  a  ray  of  moonlight.  The 
children  had  not  noticed  the  gathering  darkness  in  the 
^•oom,  and  Rieka  almost  startled  them  when  she  entered 
with  a  light. 

"  Is  not  mamma  coming  soon  ?"  asked  Angelika  with 
a  sigh.  "  Pray  tell  her  that  I  want  to  go  home." 

"  I  will  tell  her,"  replied  Rieka,  and  left  the  room. 

"  You  are  tired  of  being  with  me,"  Ernestine  whis- 
pered sadly.  "  You  cannot  love  me  either,  can  you?" 

Angelika  was  confused,  and  did  not  answer.  Ernes- 
tine looked  disappointed  and  bitter.  "  Very  well,  then — 
I  need  not  like  you  either.  Uncle  Leuthold  would  only 
scold  me  if  I  did." 

"  What  for?"  Angelika  asked  amazed. 

"  Because  it  is  silly  to  love  anything  except  science, 
and  because  nobody  loves  me — nobody  !" 

As  she  was  speaking,  a  carriage  drove  up,  and  old  Heim 
alighted  from  it.  Ernestine  was  startled  ;  she  felt  as  if 
the  pastor,  whom  she  had  shunned,  were  coming.  The 
door  opened,  and  he  entered  the  room. 

"  Well,  here  you  both  are  !"  he  cried  after  his  hearty 
fashion.  "  I  wanted  to  say  good-by  to  you,  my  little  Er- 
nestine, before  you  leave  us  for  so  long.  But  what  is  the 
matter  ?  Have  you  been  quarrelling  about  the  doll  ? 
Why,  what  a  lovely  creature  she  is!"  He  took  the  doll, 
seated  himself  in  a  chair,  and  dandled  it  upon  his  knee; 
the  machinery  of  the  toy  was  set  in  motion,  and  the  doll 
screamed  "  mamma"  and  "papa"  loudly.  "  Good  gracious, 
how  frightened  I  am  !"  laughed  the  old  gentleman.  "  But 
she  is  very  naughty, — you  must  train  her  better,  Angelika. 
She  ought  not  to  scream  so  at  strangers." 

Angelika  clapped  her  hands  with  delight.  "  Oh,  I 
knew  that  you  would  like  her,  Uncle  Heim.  You  will 
love  her  just  as  you  do  the  rest  of  my  dolls,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Of  course ;  she  is  really  such  a  lovely  creature,  that  I 
must  bring  her  some  bonbons  the  next  time  I  come." 

"  Oh,  yes — do,  uncle,  do !"  cried  Angelika. 

"  But  be  careful  not  to  let  her  eat  too  many,  or  she  will 


OR   A    PHYSICIAN  FOR   TUE  SOUL.  135 

have  to  be  put  to  bed  like  your  old  Selma,  and  I  shall 
have  to  play  doll's-doctor  again." 

"  Oh,  no,  uncle  ;  I  will  eat  some  with  her  myself;  bring 
them  soon,  pray  do." 

Meanwhile  Heim  bad  been  observing  Ernestine,  who 
stood  mute  at  a  little  distance. 

"  Well,  what  does  our  little  Ernestine  say  to  this  won- 
derful new  child  ?" 

"  Oh,  uncle,"  Angelika  complained,  "  she  called  it  a 
lump  of  leather." 

Heim  looked  gravely  at  Ernestine.  "  So  young,  and 
already  such  a  skeptic  !  Only  twelve  years  old,  and  take 
no  pleasure  in  dolls  ?  Poor  child  !" 

Ernestine  was  silent.  The  words  "  Poor  child"  fell 
like  molten  lead  into  an  open  wound.  Heim  gave  back 
the  doll  to  Angelika.  "  Come  here,  Ernestine." 

She  approached  him  shyly. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing?  you  look  as  if  you  had 
a  guilty  conscience  ?" 

"Well,  she  has,  Uncle  Heim,"  Angelika  interposed; 
"  for  she  said,  a  little  while  ago,  that  it  was  silly  to  love 
any  one;  and  that  is  very  wrong  !" 

"  Did  you  say  that  ?"  asked  Heim  astonished. 

Ernestine  felt  as  though  she  should  sink  into  the  ground. 
She  clasped  her  hands  in  entreaty.  "  Oh,  forgive  me  !  I 
have  all  kinds  of  thoughts  ! — I  do  not  know  what  I  say  or 
do  !  I  only  know  that  I  am  a  wretched,  wretched  child !" 

Heim  shook  his  head,  and  drew  the  trembling  child 
towards  him.  "My  darling,  tell  me  about  it:  is  your 
uncle  severe  with  you?  does  he  treat  you  unkindly  ?" 

"  No,  oh,  no !  he  is  very  kind, — he  is  never  cross  to  me 
— it  is  not  that, — not  that." 

"  I  understand.  In  spite  of  his  kindness,  you  feel  that 
he  is  not  near  to  you ;  you  have  no  father  nor  mother, 
and  you  need  warmth  and  sunshine,  you  poor  frail  little 
flower.  Only  be  patient !  when  you  get  to  the  lovely, 
sunny  south,  with  its  flowers  and  birds,  you  will  be  better, 
and  your  heart  will  be  lighter.  I  would  have  liked  to 
keep  you  with  me,  I  would  have  brought  you  up  lovingly, 
and  would  have  tried  to  fill  a  father's  place  to  you.  But  it 
could  not  be, — God  best  knows  why, — and  I  am  sure  it 


136  ONLY  A    GIRL. 

is  better  for  you,  mind  and  body,  to  leave  this  northern 
climate  for  a  time." 

These  kind  words  melted  Ernestine's  very  heart.  She 
pressed  Heim's  hands  to  her  lips.  She  wanted  to  confess 
all  to  him.  "  Oh,  do  not  speak  so  to  me  1"  she  cried  with 
streaming  eyes, — "  not  so  kindly  ! — I  do  not  deserve  it." 

"  My  poor  innocent  child,  what  can  you  have  done, 
not  to  deserve  kindness  ?  Ernestine,  what  is  it  ?  What 
disturbs  you  so  ?" 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew — "  cried  Ernestine,  and  just  then 
the  door  opened,  and  Leuthold  appeared,  just  in  time  to 
prevent  what  would  have  ruined  all  his  plans. 

"Ah,  Herr  Geheimrath, — then  I  was  not  mistaken. 
It  was  your  carriage  that  drove  up.  The  Frau  Staats- 
rathiu  is  with  me  upon  business,  and  requests  your  pres- 
ence at  the  signing  of  a  paper." 

"  I  will  come  immediately,"  Heim  said  briefly,  and 
went  up-stairs  with  Leuthold. 

"  Now  uncle  will  drive  home  with  us,"  cried  Angelika 
delighted.  "  Isn't  he  kind,  Ernestine  ?" 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,"  sighed  Ernestine,  standing  motionless 
beside  the  chair  where  Heim  had  been  sitting.  At  last 
he  returned  with  Leuthold  and  the  Staatsriithin. 

"  Angelika,"  said  the  latter,  "  we  must  hurry,  so  that 
Uncle  Neuenstein  shall  not  wait  for  his  tea.  Good-by, 
my  little  Ernestine.  Herr  Gleissert  will  tell  you  what 
we  intend  to  do  when  you  come  back.  Get  well  and 
strong,  my  child,  so  that  you  may  come  back  to  us  a 
healthy  little  girl." 

Angelika  kissed  Ernestine  hastily,  and  drew  her  mother 
towards  the  door. 

Ernestine  stood  still  with  downcast  eyes.  Heim  went 
up  to  her  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  He  only  said, 
"  God  bless  you  !"  but  these  words  agitated  her  greatly, 
and,  as  he  turned  to  go,  she  sank  on  the  floor,  sobbing 
aloud. 

The  visitors  had  gone, — the  carriages  had  rolled  away. 
Leuthold  had  been  amusing  himself  for  some  time  with 
Gretchen  in  his  own  room.  But  Ernestine  was  still  on 
her  knees  in  the  cheerless  room  below-stairs,  weeping 
over  the  grave  of  her  childhood. 


PART  II. 

CHAPTER  I. 

"ONLY     A     WOMAN." 

UPON  a  bright,  sunny  day,  at  the  house  of  Profes- 
sor Mollner  in  N there  were  gathered  the  principal 

Professors  of  medicine  and  philosophy  in  the  town.  The 
table  provided  for  the  guests  was  loaded  with  everything 
that  could  rejoice  the  hearts  of  men  who  had  spent  the 
morning  in  delivering  lectures.  Lunch  was  not  the  only 
end  for  which  this  assemblage  was  gathered  together. 
These  learned  gentlemen  had  taken  this  occasion  to  dis- 
cuss a  very  ludicrous  matter, — nothing  less  than  an  ap- 
plication from  a  lady  for  permission  to  attend  the  lectures 
and  to  graduate  at  the  University  of  the  place. 

Mollner  had  invited  these  gentlemen  to  his  house  for 
the  purpose  of  this  discussion.  There  sat  the  physiolo- 
gist Meibert,  the  anatomist  Beck,  and  the  philosophers 
Herbert  and  Taun,  leaning  back  in  comfortable  arm-chairs, 
— their  throats  very  dry, — regarding  with  longing  eyes 
the  various  bottles  that  stood  as  yet  uncorked,  as  if 
awaiting  the  magic  word  that  should  make  them  yield 
up  their  contents.  Hector,  too,  Mollner's  large  dog,  was 
devouring  with  his  eyes,  at  a  respectful  distance,  the 
delicacies  upon  the  table,  quite  unable  to  understand 
how  the  gentlemen  could  refrain  so  long  from  falling  to. 
He  would  have  done  very  differently  had  he  been  a  man. 

The  Staatsriithin  entered  the  room,  and  with  digni- 
fied repose  and  kindliness  of  manner  greeted  the  guests, 
who  rose  as  she  appeared.  "  I  have  just  learned  that 
my  son  is  not  here  to  receive  his  friends,"  she  said. 

12*  (137) 


138  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"Allow  me  to  act  his  part.  You  must  need  refreshment 
after  the  lectures." 

"  Thanks,  thanks  !  you  are  most  kind,"  was  heard 
from  all  sides  as  the  Staatsrathin  filled  the  glasses.  Her- 
bert, the  philosopher,  was  foremost  in  his  acknowledg- 
ments ;  for  he  was  a  great  favourite  in  society,  and  as- 
pired to  unite  the  solidity  of  the  scholar  with  the  grace 
of  the  man  of  the  world.  "We  are  greatly  privileged  in 
being  allowed  to  kiss  the  hand  whose  tasteful  care  we 
have  already  admired  in  the  charming  arrangement  of 
this  table." 

"Professor  Herbert's  gallantry  is  well  known,"  said  the 
Staatsrathin  dryly. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  replied,  "that  I  endeavour  always  to 
give  expression  to  the  sentiments  of  respect  and  admira- 
tion that  I  entertain  for  your  sex,  madam,  in  spite  of  the 
failure  of  my  attempts." 

"  Good-morning,  mamma, — good-morning,  gentlemen," 
cried  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  and  there  came  tripping  into 
the  room  a  figure  so  full  of  life  and  bloom  that  its  joyous- 
ness  was  instantly  reflected  upon  every  face. 

"Angelika,"said  the  Staatsrathin,  embracing  her,  "have 
you  come  without  your  husband  ?  What  is  the  matter  ? 
You  were  not  invited  ; — it  was  he.  Is  it  a  mistake  ?" 

"  Oh,  Frau  Staatsrathin,  we  are  entirely  satisfied  with 
the  exchange,"  laughed  the  professors ;  and,  Herbert 
taking  the  lead, — they  gathered  about  Angelika,  enjoy- 
ing the  atmosphere  of  youth  and  grace  that  encompassed 
her  everywhere. 

"  I  know  perfectly  well,  mamma,  that  only  Moritz  was 
invited,  but  I  have  come  too.  I  so  wanted  to  hear  judg- 
ment passed  in  this  august  assembly  upon  my  former 
playmate.  I  may  stay,  may  I  not  ?" 

"  If  your  husband  is  willing,  and  these  gentlemen  do 
not  object,"  said  the  Staatsrathin. 

"  No,  oh,  no, — we  certainly  do  not  object,"  cried  all  the 
gentlemen,  with  the  exception  of  Herbert,  who  remarked 
softly,  with  a  thoughtful  air,  that  he  feared  that  their 
charming  associate  might  hear  some  observations  on  this 
occasion  not  nattering  to  her  sex. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  fear  anything  of  the  sort  from  you,  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  139 

acknowledged  champion  of  dames,  the  most  gallant  of 
men,"  laughed  Angelika, — "  and  the  other  gentlemen  will 
not  be  too  hard  upon  us." 

Herbert  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Besides,"  Angelika  continued  gaily,  "I  have  been  a 
little  hardened  in  the  matter  by  my  stern  lord  and  master, 
who  has  very  little  consideration  for  our  sex." 

"  Scarcely  to  be  wondered  at  in  a  practising  physician," 
Herbert  said  in  a  low  tone  to  his  associates  ;  then,  turning 
with  his  sweetest  expression  to  Angelika,  "  Could  you 
not  have  taught  him  better  long  ago  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  complained  Angelika. 

"  He  considers  his  wife  an  exception,"  interposed  the 
Staatsrathin;  "she  seems  to  have  left  no  room  in  his 
nature  for  sympathy  with  the  rest  of  womankind.  I  have 
never  seen  a  man  so  exclusive  in  his  regard." 

"  Such  a  wife  deserves  it  all,"  said  Herbert,  kissing 
Angelika's  hand. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  old  Heim,  his 
fine  head  crowned  with  locks  of  silvery  whiteness, 
entered.  All  bowed  low  to  this  "  Nestor  of  science,"  as 
be  was  called.  After  the  death  of  his  king  he  had  ac- 
cepted a  call  to  N ,  and  had  for  eight  years  occupied 

the  chair  of  pathology  in  the  University  there.  He  was 
followed  by  his  adopted  son,  for  whom  he  had  created  a 
professorship  for  the  cure  of  diseases  of  the  eye, — a  fair, 
handsome  young  man,  slender  in  figure  and  gentle  in 
demeanour,  with  hands  so  small  and  well  shaped  that 
they  seemed  formed  for  the  very  purpose  of  handling 
such  a  delicate  piece  of  mechanism  as  the  eye.  The 
Staatsrathin  and  Angelika  greeted  them  both  with  all 
their  old  cordiality,  and  Professor  Herbert  said  aloud, 
"  How  fresh  and  strong  our  revered  associate  looks  !  he 
must  teach  us  how  to  retain  our  youth." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Meibert,  "if  Bock  could  see  him 
he  would  recall  his  cruel  assertion  that  man  retains  full 
possession  of  his  mental  powers  only  until  the  age  of 
fifty!" 

"  He  will  soon  recall  that  when  he  has  passed  fifty 
himself,"  said  a  deep,  powerful  voice.  All  turned  to  the 
new-comer. 


140  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"Ah,  Mollner,  have  you  been  listening?" 

"  Oh,  no;  but  I  could  not  help  bearing,  as  I  came  in, 
that  you  were  making  pretty  speeches  to  one  another, — 
just  as  if  you  had  cnps  of  tea  before  you,  instead  of  glasses 
of  good  wine.  Pray,  what  has  made  you  so  senti- 
mental ?" 

"  Your  protracted  absence,  probably,"  said  Angelika, 
relieving  her  brother  of  his  hat  and  cane. 

The  strong,  fine-looking  man  threw  an  affectionate 
glance  at  her.  "Indeed!  let  me  entreat  forgiveness, 
then.  One  of  my  experiments  was  unsuccessful,  and  I 
was  obliged  to  repeat  it.  That  is  why  I  am  late !" 

"  I  suppose,  then,  you  have  been  torturing  some  un- 
fortunate dog  or  rabbit,"  said  Angelika  in  a  tone  of 
distress.  "  Poor  thing  1" 

"For  shame,  Angelika!"  said  her  brother.  "Those 
are  not  words  for  the  sister  of  a  physiologist, — a  woman 
who  ought  to  understand  the  object  of  science." 

Angelika  made  no  reply,  but  observed,  well  pleased, 
how  tenderly  Johannes  stroked  Hector,  who  came  to  greet 
his  master. 

The  door  was  flung  violently  open,  and  in  rushed,  in 
a  great  hurry,  Angelika's  husband,  Moritz  Kern,  Clinical 
Professor  and  practising  physician.  His  figure  was  not 
tall,  but  muscular, — his  eyes  were  black  and  sparkling,  his 
features  sharply  cut,  and  his  stiff  black  hair  close  cropped 
around  his  head.  "  Morning,  morning,"  he  cried,  quite 
out  of  breath,  but  in  high  good  humour,  as  he  threw 
his  hat  and  gloves  upon  a  table  and  himself  into  a  chair. 
"Excuse  me  for  my  tardiness.  Ah,  my  dear, — kiss  your 
hand, — love  me  ?  Yes  ?  Not  seen  you  since  morning. 
Walter  with  you  ?  No  ?  Was  he  good  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Angelika,  who  stood  beside  her 
boisterous  husband  like  a  rose  upon  a  thorny  stem  ;  "  but 
he  fell  off  his  rocking-horse  and  has  got  a  great  bruise." 

"  Good,  good, — harden  him,"  he  replied  smiling.  He 
looked  for  an  instant  into  Angelika's  blue  eyes,  and  the 
fire  of  his  glance  must  have  penetrated  her  heart,  for  her 
fair  brow  flushed  and  her  eyelids  drooped  like  those  of  a 
girl  upon  the  day  of  her  betrothal. 

"  Come,  Moritz,  you  cau  make  love  to  your  wife  an- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  141 

other  time,"  cried  Johannes  ;  "  it  is  late, — we  must  come 
to  business.  What  detained  you  ?" 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  had  a  girl  at 
the  clinic  that  gave  me  no  end  of  trouble.  Old  trouble 
with  the  heart, — acute  inflammation, — stoppage  in  the 
arteries  of  the  left  foot, — mortification, — the  leg  must 
come  off  to-day." 

"A  splendid  case!"  said  Heim  approvingly. 

"  Heavens!  what  savages  you  are,  to  call  that  a  splen- 
did case  I"  said  Angelika  horrified. 

"  My  angel,  if  you  choose  to  assist  at  a  council  of  rude 
men,  you  must  not  start  at  such  innocent  technical  ter- 
minology," said  her  husband,  enjoying  Angelika's  pretty 
dismay. 

"  Yes,  I  too  have  been  scolding  her  for  sympathizing 
with  the  victims  of  my  experiments,"  said  Mollner. 

"  You  were  wrong  to  blame  her.  I  like  to  have  her 
compassionate.  Continue  to  weep  for  the  poor  dogs,  my 
child,  and  the  yet  more  unfortunate  frogs.  What  have 
you  to  do  with  the  reasons  for  torturing  them  ?  I  do  not 
want  you  to  imbibe  any  flavour  of  science  from  your 
husband  or  brother.  I  like  you  just  as  you  are  ;  you  suit 
me  precisely.  I  will  not  have  you  otherwise." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  mamma,  carry  Angelika  away!" 
cried  Johannes  laughing.  "  As  long  as  this  fellow  has  his 
wife  by  his  side,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  with  him  !" 

"  She  shall  stay  !"  said  Moritz  decidedly.  "  There  is 
nothing  of  importance  to  be  done.  The  Hartwich  woman 
asks  to  attend  our  lectures  ;  why  waste  any  thought  upon 
such  a  fool  ?  Don't  answer  her  request  at  all,  and  be 
done  with  it!" 

"  Softly,  softly,  my  young  friend,"  cried  old  Heim  very 
gravely,  while  Moritz,  with  Angelika's  hand  in  his, 
swallowed  a  glass  of  wine.  "  First  read  this  paper, 
which  the  girl  sent  to  me,  and  which  so  enchained 
Mollner's  attention  when  I  gave  it  to  him  to-day  after 
lecture  that — I  must  betray  him — it  was  the  cause  of  his 
tardiness.  The  experiments  were  over  long  before  he 
made  his  appearance  !" 

A  slight  flush  overspread  Johannes'  face  as  he  handed 
Moritz  the  paper.  The  latter  read  the  title  aloud — 
"  Reflex  Motion  in  its  Relation  to  Free  Agency" 


142  ONLY  A    GIRL  ; 

"  By  Jove  !  a  good  idea,  if  it  is  her  own  !" 

"  It  is  her  own — that  I  '11  vouch  for  !"  cried  Heim  with 
warmth. 

"  That  must  be  both  philosophically  and  physiologi- 
cally interesting,"  said  the  philosopher  Taun  to  Herbert, 
who  coldly  shrugged  his  shoulders 

"  Let  us  see  whether  the  article  corresponds  to  the 
title,"  muttered  Moritz,  turning  over  the  leaves. 

"Read  us  some  of  it  aloud,"  said  Heim;  and  Moritz 
selected,  at  random,  and  read  :  "According  to  my  opinion, 
the  want  of  external  self-control  proceeds  from  sluggish- 
ness of  the  inhibitory  nerves  in  comparison  with  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  motor  nerves,  for  the  effort  to  control  one's 
self  is  certainly,  in  a  degree,  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
struggle  for  mastery  between  these  two  sets  of  nerves. 
If  the  irritation  acting  upon  the  one  is  stronger  than  the 
force  of  will  which  should  excite  the  other  to  activity, 
the  reflex  motion  will  take  place  in  spite  of  what  is  called 
'  best  intentions,'  whether  the  occasion  be  a  start  of 
alarm,  a  desire  to  yawn,  laugh,  or  weep  at  unfitting 
times,  a  scream,  an  angry  gesture,  or  even  a  blow  be- 
stowed upon  the  object  whence  proceeds  the  incitement  to 
wrath." 

Moritz  paused,  and  said  smiling,  "  She  has  forgotten  a 
kiss,  which  is  only  a  reflex  motion  under  certain  circum- 
stances,— that  is,  when  one  does  not  wish  to  kiss,  ought 
not  to  kiss,  and  yet  cannot  help  it."  And  he  drew  his 
wife  towards  him,  and  kissed  her.  Angelika  blushed 
deeply,  and,  rising,  greatly  embarrassed,  joined  her 
mother,  who  sat  quietly  at  work,  by  the  window.  The 
gentlemen  laughed,  and  Moritz  looked  after  her  with  eyes 
full  of  tenderness. 

"It  certainly  is  strange  that  while  the  Hartwich  has 
made  due  mention  of  the  reflex  motion  of  terror — a  start ; 
of  pain — tears;  of  fatigue — a  yawn;  of  anger — a  blow, 
it  does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  her  that  there  are 
reflex  motions  of  tenderness,  also,"  remarked  young  Hils- 
born. 

"  Probably,"  said  Moritz  laughing,  "  she  has  had  no  op- 
portunity for  observing  any  such.  I  suppose  that,  like  all 
blue-stockings,  she  is  so  ugly  that  no  one  has  ever  be- 
stowed any  tenderness  upon  her." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  143 

"  She  is  certainly  not  ugly,"  said  Johannes  with 
warmth.  "  She  might  have  admirers  enough  if  she 
chose." 

Moritz  turned  hastily  round  to  Johannes,  who  sat  al- 
most behind  him,  and  stared  as  if  a  new  idea  had  sud- 
denly occurred  to  him.  "  What  the  deuce,  Johannes ! 
do  you  know  her  ?  Oho  !  indeed  !  now  I  understand  the 
interest  that  you  take  in  her.  Well,  you  can  teach  her 
to  make  good  her  omissions." 

"  I  should  really  like  to  be  present  at  such  an  interest- 
ing lesson !"  said  Herbert. 

"Laugh  away,"  said  Johannes  calmly.  "You  may 
laugh  at  me  as  much  as  you  please,  but  have  the  goodness, 
Moritz,  to  spare  your  jests  as  far  as  Fraulein  Hartwich  is 
concerned;  and  you  too,  friend  Herbert.  Pray  heed  what 
1  say.  We  have  nothing  to  do  here  with  the  personality 
of  this  girl ;  it  is  nothing  to  us.  All  we  have  to  do  is 
to  pass  judgment  upon  her  intellectual  capacity,  and  to 
accede  or  not  to  her  request.  Go  on,  Moritz!" 

And  Moritz  read  further:  "Even  the  law,  without 
knowing  it,  recognizes  this  physiological  fact,  for  it  pun- 
ishes less  severely  a  murder  committed  in  the  heat  of 
passion  than  one  that  is  premeditated.  And  what  is  a 
murder  committed  in  the  heat  of  passion,  in  reality,  but  a 
reflex  motion  in  a  broader  sense?  If  this  theory  be  cor- 
rect, many  a  poor  criminal  may  escape  not  only  a  violent 
death  at  the  hangman's  hands,  but  also  the  flames  of  the 
material  hell  to  which  bigoted  morali.-ts  have  consigned 
him.  Let  us  endeavour,  therefore,  to  discover  what  relation 
these  facts  sustain  to  Free  Agency.  All  that  we  can  do  to 
attain  the  self-control  which  is  the  germ  of  all  the  virtues 
is,  from  earliest  childhood,  to  exercise  the  inhibitory 
nerves  in  the  discharge  of  their  functions.  It  is  an  un- 
doubted fact  that,  from  the  beginning  of  life,  the  mind 
must  learn  to  use  as  its  tools  the  various  organs  of  the 
body.  We  cannot  understand  the  use  of  a  tool  to  which 
we  are  unaccustomed  as  we  can  one  that  we  have  fre- 
quently handled.  Thus  it  is  with  the  mind  and  the  nerves. 
Every  uerve  that  is  often  called  into  activity  by  the  mind 
is  strengthened  by  exercise.  For  example  :  the  sense  of 
touch  grows  remarkably  keen  with  blind  people,  who  de- 


144  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

pend  upon  it  as  a  substitute  for  eyesight.  By  continual 
exercise  of  the  nerves  of  sensation  in  his  finger-tips,  the 
blind  man  achieves  the  greatest  perfection  in  his  sense  of 
touch.  'Practice  makes  perfect,'  we  often  hear  said 
with  regard  to  arts  and  occupations  difficult  of  mastery. 
And  what  is  this  practice  but  the  custom  of  the  mind  to 
exercise  this  or  that  nerve,  bringing  into  play  the  required 
muscular  activity, — the  exercise  of  certain  nerve-fibres  ? 
Are  the  inhibitory  nerves  alone  not  to  be  thus  controlled  ? 
Certainly  not !  The  mind  can  make  them  also  implicitly 
obedient  to  its  will,  if  it  neglects  no  opportunity  for 
exercising  them, — and  why  should  it  not  apply  itself  to 
this  task  with  the  same  zeal  that  is  expended  upon  the 
attainment  of  an  art  or  handicraft  ?  I,  for  example,  was 
in  the  habit  of  screaming  at  the  unexpected  discharge  of 
a  pistol.  I  had  a  pistol  discharged  daily  in  my  hearing, 
without  warning,  and  in  a  short  time  I  was  able  to  sup- 
press the  scream.  It  may  be  urged  that  I  had  gradually 
become  accustomed  to  the  noise,  and  was  no  longer  star- 
tled. But  this  was  not  the  case.  I  was  as  much  startled 
as  ever,  but  I  had  taught  the  appropriate  inhibitory  nerve 
to  cut  off  the  reflex  motion  upon  the  larynx.  I  know 
that  a  subjective  experience  of  this  kind  proves  nothing 
objectively;  but  such  a  simple  inference,  I  think,  needs  no 
proof.  Here  we  come  again  to  the  boundary-line  sepa- 
rating the  physiological  from  the  psychological,  where 
free  agency  results  from  a  material  law,  just  as  fragrance 
comes  from  the  chalice  of  a  flower.  Only  let  us  be  sure 
that  our  nerves  are  but  a  key-board  upon  which,  if  we 
strike  the  right  keys  correctly,  we  shall  produce  the  har- 
monious accord  of  our  whole  being,  and,  if  we  do  not 
learn  to  do  so,  we  are  to  be  pitied  or  despised,  according 
to  the  school  in  which  the  lesson  is  needed." 

"And  so  on,"  said  Moritz,  turning  over  the  leaves. 
"  The  rest  can  be  easily  imagined.  Here  is  a  special  treat- 
ise upon  the  motor  nerves, — it  seems  pretty  fair, — and 
rather  a  long  essay  upon  nervous  excitement,  but  I  think 
we  have  done  our  duty  and  read  enough  of  the  testi- 
mony. How  shall  we  decide  ?  Shall  we  carry  out  the 
joke,  and  admit  a  student  in  petticoats  to  the  lectures  and 
the  dissecting-room?" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  145 

"Why  not?"  said  Professor  Taun  with  some  humour. 
"We  admit  so  many  stupid  lads,  why  not  one  woman?" 

"My  dear  friend,"  old  Heim  began,  "I  do  not  think 
we  have  ever  had  many  pupils  more  gifted  than  Fraulein 
llartwich.  And  is  not  a  talented  woman  better  than  a 
stupid  man  ?" 

"  That  is  a  question,"  remarked  Herbert,  riveting  his 
sharp  eyes  upon  Heiiu's  honest  face.  "I  do  not  believe 
that  the  most  talented  woman  can  accomplish  what  is 
possible,  with  diligence  and  perseverance,  for  a  man  of 
common  ability.  What  aid  can  a  woman  lend  to  us,  or 
to  science  ?  The  aid  of  her  labour  only,  for  no  woman 
possesses  creative  force.  And  the  feminine  capacity  for 
labour  is  so  weak,  that  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  commit 
an  absurdity  for  the  sake  of  making  it  ours." 

"An  absurdity?"  asked  Heim. 

"Yes,  I  should  call  it  absurd  to  admit  a  woman  among 
our  students,  to  degrade  science  to  a  mere  doll  to  amuse 
silly  girls  withal,  until,  finally,  there  would  be  an  Areop- 
agus erected,  before  which  we  should  be  expected  to 
make  our  most  profound  bow,  in  every  feminine  tea-party. 
There  is  competition  enough  already,  without  increasing 
it  by  the  admission  among  us  of  the  other  sex." 

"  That  sounds  strange,"  said  old  Heim ;  "  it  looks  almost 
as  if  you  were  afraid  of  the  competition  which  you  so 
thoroughly  despise.  Why  speak  of  competition  in  sci- 
ence? Leave  that  narrow-minded  word  to  trade,  which 
is  really  confined  within  certain  limits.  In  such  a  bound- 
less and  abstract  domain  as  science,  there  is  no  place  for 
personal  envy  and  arrogance.  Can  there  be  any  ques- 
tion of  competition  when  we  are  labouring  for  a  cause 
which  is  to  benefit  the  world?  Whoever  asks  for  other 
rewards  than  are  contained  in  knowledge  itself,  is  no 
priest  of  science.  The  true  student  exists  for  science,  not 
science  for  him, — he  rejoices  in  every  fresh  advance,  no 
matter  by  whom  it  is  made,  for  the  honour  of  the  cause 
that  he  serves  is  his  own,  and  we  can  say  truthfully, 
Each  for  all,  and  all  for  each.  If,  therefore,  we  are  offered 
the  labour  of  a  pair  of  hands  willing  to  share  our  pains, 
let  us  not  reject  them  because  they  are  the  delicate  hands 

13 


146  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

of  a  woman,  but  accept  them,  and  offer  them  a  modest 
place,  where  they  can  achieve  all  that  lies  in  their  power." 

"But,"  cried  Moritz,  "let  such  hands  do  for  us  what 
we  cannot  do  for  ourselves, — knit  stockings,  for  instance, 
— instead  of  trying  to  assist  in  what  we  can  easily  accom- 
plish without  them." 

"My  dear  young  friend,"  said  Heim  smiling,  "the 
temple  of  science  is  large,  very  large.  I  think  neither 
we  nor  our  posterity,  however  numerous  they  may  be, 
will  be  able  to  complete  it." 

"  I  think,  gentlemen,"  said  the  philosopher  Taun,  in 
his  gentle,  refined  way,  "that  there  are  only  two  points 
of  view  from  which  the  matter  is  to  be  considered.  Either 
we  must  base  our  decision  upon  the  intellectual  capacity 
of  the  lady,  and,  if  so,  subject  the  paper  before  us  to  con- 
scientious criticism ;  or  we  must  determine,  once  for  all, 
that  no  woman  is  to  be  admitted  to  our  University, — in 
which  case  there  will  be  no  question  whatever  of  capa- 
city or  incapacity.  Let  us,  then,  come  to  an  agreement 
upon  these  points." 

"  That  is  true, — Taun  is  right,"  cried  Heim.  "  I  vote 
for  the  admission  of  women  of  genius,  like  this  one." 

"And  I  against  it,"  rejoined  Herbert;  "for  I  contend 
that  there  are  no  women  of  genius  !" 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Taun,  "  I  am  not  decidedly  op- 
posed to  the  admission  of  a  woman  among  our  hearers, 
and,  if  I  were,  the  originality  of  Friiulein  Hartwich's 
paper  would  have  shaken  my  decision.  I  cannot  judge 
of  the  value  of  the  physiological  part  of  it, — I  must  leave 
that  to  our  friend  Mdllner ;  but  the  philosophical  idea 
that  is  its  basis  I  think  extremely  suggestive,  and  that 
is  more  than  can  be  expected  from  one  of  the  laity." 

"  I  oppose  the  emancipation  of  women,"  cried  Moritz, 
"principally  because  I  find  the  existing  order  of  society 
quite  rational,  and  will  do  nothing  to  disturb  it." 

"I  vote  for  Friiulein  Hartwich."  said  young  Hilsborn. 
"  It  will  not  interfere  with  our  social  order  to  grant  her 
request.  She  will  not  be  followed  by  crowds  of  imitators, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  her  talent  is  extraordinary.  I 
maintain  that  we  have  no  right  to  deny  any  opportunity 
for  development  to  such  a  talent  because  it  is  accidentally 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  \tf 

hidden  in  a  woman's  brain.    A  great  mind  requires  strong^ 
nourishment,  and  it  is  cruel  to  withhold  such  from  it  out 
of  mere  envy,  and  condemn  it  to  extinction  among  the 
commonplace  occupations  of  women." 

"  Hilsborn  is  far  from  wrong,"  said  Meibert;  "but  can 
such  a  mind  quench  its  thirst  for  knowledge  nowhere  but 
in  a  University  ?  The  lady  has  certainly  proved  in  the 
treatise  before  us  that  she  has  learned  something  outside 
of  the  walls  of  the  lecture-room.  What  does  she  want 
of  a  degree  ?  It  must  be  vanity  that  suggests  the  want, 
and  we  are  to  blame  if  we  lend  ourselves  to  the  gratifica- 
tion  of  such  a  folly." 

"  That  is  my  opinion  also,"  added  Beck. 

But  Hilsborn  was  not  silenced.  "  It  seems  very  natural 
to  me  that  a  woman  who  feels  herself  possessed  of  the 
mental  power  of  a  man  should  aspire  to  manly  dignities, 
and  her  desire  to  espouse  science,  not  as  an  amusement, 
but  as  the  occupation  and  end  of  her  existence,  is  a  proof 
of  her  deep  conviction  of  its  grave  importance.  There 
is  certainly  nothing  here  of  the  female  vanity  which 
resorts  to  bodily  and  mental  adornment  merely  for  the 
sake  of  pleasing." 

"  You  are  a  brave  champion,  Hilsborn,"  said  Mollner, 
holding  out  his  hand  to  the  young  man. 

"  Then  we  are  only  three  against  four,"  said  old  Heim. 
"  Mollner's  vote  alone  is  wanting, — and  if  he  gives  it  in 
favour  of  the  Hartwich,  there  will  be  a  tie ;  so  I  propose 
that  we  give  him  the  casting  vote,  especially  as  be,  as  a 
physiologist,  is  best  capable  of  judging  of  the  value  of 
the  essay  before  us." 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  cried  Moritz,  "that  any  one 
of  us  could  have  passed  judgment  upon  such  a  piece  of 
dilettauteism  ;  it  is  only  the  modern  nonsense  about  the 
fibres.  There  is  not  much  in  it!" 

All  present  looked  eagerly  towards  Johannes,  who  was 
calmly  leaning  back  in  his  arm-chair.  "It  is  no  piece  of 
dilettanteism.  I  grant  that  it  is  hasty  and  one-sided  to 
attempt  to  ascribe  all  self-control  to  the  impediments  of 
reflex  motion  ;  nevertheless,  Friiulein  Hartwich's  essay 
evinces  a  comprehension  of  the  physiology  of  the  nervous 
system  far  beyond  what  is  usual,  and  I  cannot  deny  that 


148  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

guch  a  self-dependent  realization  of  scholarship  is  a  proof 
of  the  most  decided  creative  faculty."  Here  he  looked 
at  Herbert. 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  the  latter  pointedly. 

"  Yes  !"  said  Mollner  with  warmth  ;  "but,  nevertheless, 
I  give  my  vote  against  her  admission;  and  of  course  that 
decides  the  matter, — we  are  now  five  to  three!"  The 
gentlemen  looked  at  one  another,  some  with  surprise, 
some  with  annoyance. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Heim.  "You  were 
thoroughly  delighted  to-day  with  the  girl's  talent." 

"  We  relied  upon  you,"  said  Hilsborn  reproachfully. 

"  This  is  the  first  injustice  of  which  I  have  ever  con- 
victed my  friend  Mollner,"  said  Taun,  shaking  his  head. 

Johannes  looked  at  his  dismayed  associates  with  quiet 
amusement,  and  did  not  observe  that  Herbert  extended 
his  hand  to  him  to  thank  him  for  his  assistance. 

"  God  be  thanked,"  he  muttered,  "  that  you  have  given 
the  fool  her  discharge  1"  And  he  swallowed  the  contents 
of  his  glass  with  evident  satisfaction. 

"Johannes!  Johannes!"  Hilsborn  began  again,  "why 
have  you  treated  the  girl  and  ourselves  in  this  manner?" 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Johannes, — and  there  was  a  glow  in 
his  face  that  quite  transfigured  it, — "  because  she  is  far 
more  to  me  than  to  any  of  you." 

"You  have  chosen  a  very  odd  method  to  show  that  it 
is  so,"  Hilsborn  remonstrated. 

"  I)o  you  think  so,  short-sighted  man  ?"  asked  Mollner 
gravely. 

"  What  harm  can  it  do  you  to  make  the  Hartwich 
happy  ?"  grumbled  Hilsborn. 

Mollner  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. — "When  we  take 
away  from  a  child  a  knife  with  which  it  is  playing,  we  do 
so,  not  because  we  are  afraid  it  will  harm  us,  but  itself. 
True,  the  child  will  regard  us  as  an  enemy,  but  we  act 
for  its  own  sake." 

"  Well,  is  the  Hartwich  the  child  that  you  feel  so  bound 
to  protect  ?" 

"Yes,  Hilsborn!  Woman,  of  whatever  age,  is  in- 
trusted to  the  guardianship  of  man.  It  is  ours  to  decide 
her  future,  to  protect  her ;  and  we  are  responsible  for  her 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  149 

development.  Which  of  you,  ray  dear  friends  Heim, 
Taun,  and  Hilsborn,  when  I  put  it  to  your  consciences, 
can  deny  that  the  Hartwicli  is  treading  a  mistaken  path, — 
that  she  is  trespassing  beyond  the  bounds  that  form  the 
natural  division-line  between  the  sexes?  I  have  nothing 
to  urge  in  opposition  to  the  mental  activity  of  woman, 
provided  it  be  exercised  within  the  limits  of  her  proper 
sphere ;  and  these  limits  I  set  far  beyond  the  place  as- 
signed her  by  our  friend  Herbert  and  my  brother-in-law 
Moritz.  But  I  have  such  a  reverence  for  true  woman- 
hood that  I  will  lend  my  aid  to  no  project  which  can  be 
carried  out  only  at  its  expense." 

"  I  think,"  said  Moritz,  "that  the  Hartwich  must  have 
already  entirely  renounced  the  womanhood  of  which  you 
speak,  or  she  never  would  have  entertained  such  projects. 
There  can't  be  much  there  to  spoil." 

"  You  judge  hastily,  Moritz,  as  you  always  do,"  said 
Johannes.  "  If  you  knew  under  what  influences  this 
girl  has  grown  up,  you  would  understand  that  it  is 
not  a  want  of  delicacy,  but  lofty  courage, — a  passionate, 
sacred  enthusiasm, — that  prevents  her  from  shuddering  at 
the  horrors  of  the  study  of  physiology  and  enables  her 
to  look  beyond  the  individual  to  the  universe.  A  dazzling 
light,  flaming  before  our  eyes,  blinds  us  to  what  lies 
nearest  us.  Thus  was  it  with  this  gifted  girl  when  the 
light  of  science  arose  for  her,  enveloping  with  its  glory 
the  world  of  reality  around  her." 

Moritz's  face,  usually  so  gay  in  expression,  suddenly 
grew  grave  :  he  looked  at  Mb'llner  with  manifest  anxiety. 
— "  Johannes,  you  talk  as  if  you  had  a  personal  interest 
in  this  preposterous  creature!" 

"  Why  should  I  deny  it  ? — Yes,  I  have !" 

"  Good  heavens  !"  cried  Moritz,  "  you  are  not  going  to 
stand  in  friend  Hilsborn's  way  ?  He  seems  to  have 
serious  intentions  with  regard  to  her." 

"  Oh,  you  are  wrong  there,  Moritz,"  said  Hilsborn. 
"  Her  perilous  struggle  for  emancipation  inspires  me  with 
sympathy,  it  is  true,  but  with  no  desire  for  a  closer 
knowledge  of  her.  I  may  surely  like  to  have  her  for  a 
pupil  without  wanting  to  marry  her." 

"  And  there,  Hilsborn,"  said  Johannes  gaily,  "  lies  the 
13* 


150  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

difference  between  us ;  for  I  should  wish  to  have  her  not 
for  a  pupil,  but  for  a  wife !" 

An  exclamation  of  dismay  burst  from  the  lips  of  all 
present.  "How  did  you  come  to  know  her?"  "Where 
did  he  know  her  ?"  the  gentlemen,  with  the  exception 
of  Heim  and  Hilsborn,  inquired. 

"  How  the  idea  of  my  danger  seems  to  startle  you  !" 
said  Johannes  good-humouredly.  "Is  the  girl  an  evil 
spirit, — a  witch  ?  No,  she  is  only  a  woman.  How  can 
you  be  afraid  of  a  woman  ?  What  makes  her  terrible  to 
you  makes  her  interesting  to  me ;  and  where  is  the  dan- 
ger for  me,  even  if  I  should  try  to  lead  her  out  of  her 
crooked  path  ?  Yes,  even  if  she  should  become  my 
wife " 

"  Heaven  save  you  from  such  a  wife  !"  the  Staatsrathin 
interposed. 

"Matters  have  not  yet  gone  quite  so  far,  mother; 
there  is  nothing  in  the  affair  yet  but  pure  human  sympa- 
thy. But  suppose  it  were  to  go  further, — what  then  ?  The 
husband  who  is  made  unhappy  by  his  wife  has  only  him- 
self to  blame;  for  woman  is  just  what  we  make  her." 

"  Oh,  presumptuous  man  !"  exclaimed  the  Staatsrathin, 
"there  are  women  who  would  prove  your  error  to  you 
after  a  terrible  fashion  !  This  Hartwich  girl  was  to  me 
a  most  disagreeable  child, — what  must  she  be  now?" 

"A  woman  who  seems  strayed  from  another  world, — 
an  apparition  once  seen  never  forgotten !" 

"Heavens!"  said  the  Staatsrathin,  really  alarmed, 
"  where  and  when  have  you  met  her  ?  She  vanished 
almost  ten  years  ago ;  and  if  her  rationalistic  books  had 
not  appeared  last  winter,  every  one  would  have  forgotten 
her." 

"  Did  you  know  her  before,  then  ?"  several  gentlemen 
asked  curiously. 

"  We  were  playmates  for  some  time,"  said  Angelika, 
"  but  in  the  end  I  could  not  endure  her,  she  was  so  old- 
fashioned  and  despised  my  dolls." 

The  gentlemen  laughed. 

"  She  was  the  most  strangely  interesting  child  I  ever 
saw  in  my  life !"  said  old  Heim. 

"Indeed  she  was,"  said  Mb'llner;  "but  there  was  some- 


OR   A    PHYSICIAN-  FOR   THE  SOUL.  151 

thing  repellant  about  her,  for  she  had  been  embittered  by 
cruel  treatment,  which  had  developed  her  mind  preco- 
ciously, while  it  had  stunted  her  body.  Such  incongruity 
is  always  disagreeable,  and  therefore  every  one  shunned 
her,  as  she  shunned  every  one.  We  soon  forgot  her,  for 
she  left  our  part  of  the  country  when  she  was  twelve 
years  old,  and  we  heard  nothing  more  either  of  her  or 
of  her  guardian,  who  accompanied  her.  A  year  or  more 
ago,  however,  a  couple  of  brochures  from  her  pen  ap- 
peared, that  excited  a  tempest  of  criticism,  at  least  among 
women,  on  account  of  their  rationalistic  tendency.  I  did 
not  think  it  worth  while  to  read  diem,  as  the  pale  little 
Hartwich  girl  had  almost  faded  from  my  memory.  No 
one  knew  anything  about  her,  and  we  took  no  pains  to 
know,  for  my  mother  and  sister  had  been  deeply  shocked 
by  the  child's  atheism,  and  had  given  her  up.  A  short 
time  since  I  went  to  see  my  friend  Hilsborn,  and  met  him 
just  as  he  was  getting  into  his  carriage  to  drive  to  the 
village  of  Hochstetten,  two  miles  off.  He  had  been  sent  for 
to  see  the  village  schoolmaster.  Hilsborn  asked  me  to 
go  with  him,  and,  as  the  day  was  fine,  I  consented.  When 
we  arrived  at  the  small  castle  that  lies  in  the  outskirts  of 
the  village,  we  alighted.  Hilsborn  went  to  find  the  school- 
master,— I  remained  behind,  to  await  his  return,  and 
walked  slowly  past  the  large,  neglected  garden,  that  sur- 
rounds the  castle.  A  fresh  breeze  stirred  the  waving 
wheat-fields,  and  the  setting  sun  shone  through  the  quiv- 
ering air  upon  the  distant  landscape.  Suddenly,  painted 
upon  the  flaming  horizon,  like  the  picture  of  a  saint  of  the 
Middle  Ages  upon  a  golden  background,  appeared  the  figure 
of  a  woman  dressed  in  black, — a  woman  so  beautiful  and 
sad  that  she  might  have  been  Night 's  messenger  command- 
ing the  sun  to  set.  She  stood  with  folded  arms,  motionless, 
upon  a  little  eminence  in  the  garden,  looking  full  at  the 
descending  orb  of  light,  while  the  breeze  stirred  the  heavy 
folds  of  her  dress.  The  evening-red  cast  a  glow  upon 
her  grave  face,  white  as  marble,  and  the  light  in  her 
large  eyes  seemed  not  to  proceed  from  the  sun  which 
they  mirrored,  but  from  within.  I  stared  like  a  boy  at 
the.  beautiful,  silent  apparition,  and  forgot  that  my  gaze 
might  annoy  her  should  she  become  aware  of  it.  And 


152  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

so  it  proved.  As  she  took  up  some  coloured  glasses 
lying1  beside  her,  I  saw  with  surprise  that  she  was  try- 
ing some  optical  experiment,  and  just  then  her  glance 
fell  upon  me.  A  shade  of  vexation  passed  over  her  face, 
now  turned  from  the  light,  and  lent  it  a  cold,  stern  ex- 
pression. Without  honouring  me  with  a  second  glance, 
she  gathered  together  her  optical  instruments  and  walked 
quietly  down  the  little  hill.  Just  then  the  sun  disap- 
peared below  the  horizon,  as  if  at  her  command,  and  gloomy 
twilight  gathered  above  the  silent  garden,  in  whose  paths 
she  disappeared.  I  could  not  picture  to  myself  a  happy 
face  among  those  rank,  thick  bushes  behind  that  high 
wall.  I  could  not  imagine  a  happy  heart  in  the  breast  of 
that  lonely,  gloomy  figure.  Night  fell  while  I  was  still 
vainly  looking  after  her.  I  hurrie'd  on  to  the  schoolmas- 
ter's, upon  the  pretence  of  finding  Hilsborn,  and  learned 
from  him  that  my  unknown  was  Ernestine  Hartwich. 
She  had,  a  short  time  before,  rented  the  Haunted  Castle, 
as  it  was  called,  and,  as  they  were  not  very  enlightened  in 
the  village,  the  beautiful  girl  was  regarded  with  a  sort  of 
supernatural  terror,  —  for  certainly  something  must  be 
wrong  with  one  who  lived  so  entirely  cut  off  from  inter- 
course with  human  beings,  and  who,  worse  than  all, 
never  went  to  church.  There  was  some  excuse  to  be 
found  for  her,  to  be  sure,  in  the  evil  influence  of  a  step- 
uncle  and  guardian,  who  had  had  charge  of  her  since  the 
early  death  of  her  parents,  and  who  possessed  entire  au- 
thority over  her.  He  is  that  famous,  or  rather  infamous, 
Doctor  Gleissert,  of  whom  you  have  all  heard." 

"  Oho!  he  !"  murmured  the  gentlemen  in  a  contempt- 
uous tone,  and  old  Heim  bestowed  upon  him  a  hearty 
"  Scoundrel  !" 

"  Well,"  Johannes  continued,  "  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
imagine  me  such  a  fool  as  to  have  fallen  in  love  at  the 
first  sight  of  a  beautiful  face,  but  the  apparition  that  I 
have  just  described  presented  a  combination  of  what  is 
most  attractive  to  a  man, — '  beauty,  intellect,  and  virtue.' " 

"  Virtue  !"  Herbert  repeated ;  "  are  you  so  sure  of  that  ?" 

"Yes.  If  Friiulein  Hartwich  were  not  virtuous,  she 
would  not  live  in  such  strict  retirement.  Those  who  luive 
tasted  the  cup  of  self-indulgence  are  too  apt  to  return  to 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  153 

it ;  the  truly  pure  alone  can  find  contentment  in  seclu- 
sion and  loneliness,  inspired  only  by  a  grand  idea!  I  go 
still  further,  and,  as  a  physiologist,  upon  the  ground 
of  the  preservation  of  force,  maintain  that  a  woman  en- 
gaged in  such  unusual  and  profound  studies  needs  all 
her  vital  energy  for  her  work,  and  is  dead  to  all  the 
pleasures  of  sense.  Hence  we  so  often  find  entire 
lack  of  sensibility  in  women  accustomed  to  great  mental 
activity, — because  their  supply  of  vital  force  is  not  suffi- 
cient for  the  double  occupation  of  thinking  and  feeling. 
And  therefore  my  only  fear  is  that  there  is  no  warm 
heart  throbbing  within  that  exquisite  form." 

The  professors  looked  significantly  at  one  another, 
and  the  Staatsriithin  exchanged  anxious  whispers  with 
Angel  ika. 

"  Well,"  said  Herbert,  as  he  arose  from  his  chair,  "  I 
propose  that  we  leave  our  respected  associate  to  his 
dreams,  and  wish  for  his  sake  that  his  pupil  may  not  be 
as  accomplished  upon  the  subject  of  the  nerves  of  sensa- 
tion as  upon  the  inhibitory  nerves." 

The  gentlemen  all  arose. 

Johannes  looked  fixedly  at  Herbert  and  said,  "  I  am  no 
dreamer,  Doctor  Herbert,  although  I  believe  in  the  virtue 
that  requires  no  certificate  of  character.  And,  I  repeat, 
I  believe  so  firmly  in  this  virtue,  that  I  denounce  as 
a  slanderer  the  man  who  dares  to  assail  it  by  a  single 
word !" 

"  Sir  !"  cried  Herbert  with  irritation,  "  your  remark  is 
insulting  !" 

"Only  to  him  to  whom  it  may  apply!"  said  Johannes 
calmly. 

Angelika  ran  to  her  brother  and  threw  her  arms  around 
him.  "  Johannes  !  Johannes !  consider  who  k  is  that 
you  are  defending.  You  do  not  even  know  her." 

"  Yes,  yes,  she  is  right !"  added  several  of  the  gentle- 
men. 

Johannes  held,  up  Ernestine's  paper,  and  said  with 
earnest  gravity,  "I  do  know  her." 

Herbert  took  his  hat,  and,  with  a  Silent  bow,  was  about 
to  leave  the  room,  when  the  beadle  of  the  University 
rushed  in  and  handed  Johannes  a  letter.  "  Herr  Profes- 


154  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

sor !  Herr  Professor  !  this  comes  in  haste  from  his  Honor, 
and  concerns  all  the  gentlemen." 

Johannes  opened  the  letter,  and  Herbert  stood  listen- 
ing upon  the  threshold.  After  reading  it,  Johannes 
looked  around  the  circle  with  a  smile.  "  Gentlemen,  we 
have  been  most  strangely  mystified.  The  prize  essay 
upon  the  'Capacity  of  the  Eye  for  Stereoscopic  Vision,1 
which  we  all  attributed  to  Hilsborn,  is  by  —  Fraulein 
Hartwich  !" 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  greeted  this  announcement. 
All  present  crowded  around  Johannes  to  read  the  letter  ; 
even  Herbert  entered  the  room  again,  to  make  sure  that 
what  he  had  heard  was  true.  There  was  no  doubt  of  it, 
— the  fact  was  indisputable  that  these  gentlemen  had  ac- 
corded the  prize  offered  for  the  best  essay  upon  the  '  Capa- 
city of  the  Eye  for  Stereoscopic  Vision1  to  Ernestine,  to 
whom  they  had  just  denied  admission  to  the  University 
because  she  was  a  woman.  It  was  a  fact  not  exactly 
pleasant  to  contemplate,  and  the  professors  exchanged 
glances  of  chagrin. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  asked  some. 

"  This  alters  the  case  entirely,"  said  Beck. 

"  Mollncr,"  cried  Meibert,  "  this  is  embarrassing  enough. 
I  think  we  shall  have  to  reconsider  our  decision." 

"  We  can  scarcely  withhold  a  diploma  from  a  woman  to 
whom  we  have  awarded  this  prize,"  said  Taun. 

Heim  nodded  in  high  good  humuor,  and  growled,  "Ah, 
yes,  you  sing  a  different  tune  now !" 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Johannes  with  emphasis,  "  I  pray 
you  do  not  mistake  the  point  at  issue.  If  the  question 
had  been  of  the  capacity  of  the  applicant,  the  essay  that 
we  have  already  read  would  have  influenced  our  decision ; 
but  thera  is  a  social  principle  concerned,  which  we  must 
not  violate  for  the  sake  of  an  individual.  Must  I  remind 
you  of  what  you  know  so  well  ?" 

"  Our  colleague  is  still  victorious,"  said  Taun,  offering 
his  hand  with  kindly  dignity  to  Johannes.  "  We  cannot 
think  you  in  the  wrong." 

"  The  prize  awarded  to  a  woman  !"  muttered  Herbert, 
as  he  left  the  room.  "  It  is  enough  to  kill  one  with  vexa- 
tion!" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  155 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  the  others,  when  he  had  departed, 
"that  our  pleasant  morning  should  have  been  so  spoiled 
by  Herbert." 

"  Do  not  be  disturbed  by  it,  dear  friends,"  laughed 
Johannes;  "  it  did  me  good  to  tell  him  the  truth  for  once. 
He  is  one  of  those  who  sustain  their  mental  existence  by 
continual  conflict.  '  Destroy,  that  you  may  exist,'  is  their 
motto, — and  of  course  they  are  the  sworn  enemies  of  all 
rising  talent.  They  must  be  so,  because  they  are  not 
conscious  of  any  power  in  themselves  to  soar  above  it; 
they  need  all  the  strength  of  their  nature  to  enable  them 
to  avoid  being  extinguished  by  the  wealth  of  vital  force 
that  is  expended  all  around  them.  Those  whose  lot  is 
cast  beyond  the  sphere  of  such  individuals  can  afford  to 
pity  them,  but  those  who  are  within  reach  of  their  poi- 
sonous fangs  must  fear  them  as  the  arch-enemies  of  all 
creation  and  growth.  Although  I  could  not  accede  to 
Fraulein  Hartwich's  request,  the  envious  malice  with 
which  he  criticised  her  pained  me  excessively." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  the  philosopher  Taun.  "  It 
is  sad  enough  when  such  embodied  negations  interfere 
with  the  free,  joyous  activity  of  art, — doubly  so  when 
they  meddle  with  science  !" 

"  Who  would  have  thought  it,"  cried  Angelika,  "  of 
the  gallant  Professor  Herbert,  who  is  sure  to  propose 
'the  ladies'  at  every  supper-party!  I  am  amazed  !" 

"One  who  pays  court  to  'the  ladies,'  my  fair  colleague, 
may  very  possibly  be  no  advocate  for  woman,  since,  ac- 
cording to  my  brother  Schopenhauer,  what  constitutes  the 
modern  lady  is  not  the  strength,  but  the  weakness,  of  her 
sex,"  replied  Taun. 

"  True  enough,"  said  Johannes.  "  Such  a  man  might 
show  consideration  for  weakness, — he  can  only  contend 
with  strength." 

"  Only  wait  awhile,  Herr  Professor  Herbert !"  cried 
Angelika,  shaking  her  plump  little  forefinger  towards  the 
door  of  the  room.  "  I  shall  not  forget  you, — only  wait — 
I  will  strip  the  sheep's  clothing  from  the  wolf's  back,  in 
full  conclave  of  his  lady  friends !  -And  you  too,  Moritz, 
— I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you,  but  not  until  we  are  alone." 

The  gentlemen  laughed,  and  took  their  hats. 


156  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Come,  we  must  not  deprive  our  friend  Kern  for  one 
moment  longer  of  such  a  charming  curtain-lecture,"  said 
Taun. 

All  took  their  leave,  except  Heim,  Hilsboru,  and  Moritz. 

"And  so,"  began  Angelika  with  a  pout,  "you  miser- 
able, detestable  man,  we  are  to  do  nothing  but  knit  stock- 
ings ?" 

"  One  thing  beside,"  said  Moritz,  seizing  both  her 
hands, — "you  may  kiss — that  is  a  charming  vocation." 

"  Nonsense !  any  stupid  fool  can  do  that, — the  clever 
ones  must  do  something  better." 

"No  woman  with  so  pretty  a  mouth  can  do  anything 
better !  Only  those  who  are  ugly  or  old  shall  knit  stock- 
ings." 

"  There  is  no  getting  a  serious  word  from  you,  Moritz, 
but  I  am  sorry  for  poor  Ernestine,  and  it  grieves  me  that 
you  were  so  hard  upon  her." 

One  single  stern  glance  from  Moritz's  black  eyes  en- 
countered his  wife's ;  it  was  enough — it  silenced  her  in- 
stantly. 

"  You  know,"  he  said  kindly,  but  gravely,  as  if  to  a 
child,  "that  I  do  not  like  to  have  you  undertake  to  decide 
upon  matters  of  which  you  understand  nothing." 

Angelika  looked  down,  and  a  tear  trembled  upon  her 
long  eyelashes. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Moritz  soothingly,  and  drew  her 
towards  him, — "tears?  And  why  not?  Nothing  more 
than  a  dewdrop  in  the  bosom  of  a  rose, — nothing  more." 
He  brushed  away  her  tears,  and  she  smiled  at  him  again. 

"  It  is  well  for  you,  my  son,"  said  the  Staatsriithin 
gently,  but  gravely,  "  that  your  wife's  heart  is  so  warm 
that  the  frost  made  in  it  by  unkind  words  melts  to  tears 
and  does  no  further  injury." 

Moritz  looked  at  his  mother-in-law,  and  then  at  his 
wife. — "  Angelika,  was  I  unkind  ?" 

Angelika  shook  her  fair  curls  and  said,  in  a  tone  which 
told  all  the  sweetness  of  her  childlike  disposition,  "  No, 
Moritz,  you  were  right." 

"  There,  mamma,  that  is  a  true  woman  as  she  comes 
from  the  hand  of  her  Creator  to  be  a  blessing  to  the  man 
to  whom  she  belongs,"  cried  Moritz,  with  a  fond  look  at 
his  wife. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  157 

The  Staatsrathin  stood  beside  them,  her  eyes  resting 
with  unspeakable  affection  upon  her  child,  but  there  was 
a  strange  mixture  of  delight  and  anxiety  in  her  heart. 

"  This  youthful  devotion  is  very  beautiful,  but,  when 
its  first  fervour  has  passed,  nothing  remains  of  the  bride- 
groom but  the  lord  and  master  of  the  wife,  who  is  often- 
times as  unhappy  a  slave  as  she  is  now  a  happy  one." 
Such  thoughts  passed  through  the  mother's  mind,  and 
she  sighed. 

Meanwhile,  Johannes  had  been  talking  in  a  low  voice 
with  Heim  and  Hilsborn  about  the  contents  of  a  letter 
which  Heim  had  handed  him  to  read.  "  Then,  Father 
Heim,  that  is  settled,"  he  said. 

The  Staatsrathiu  turned  to  them,  and  asked,  "  What 
have  you  there  ?" 

"  A  letter  from  Friiulein  Hartwich  to  Uncle  Heim, 
mother." 

Johannes  handed  her  the  letter,  and  the  Staatsrathin 
read : 

"  HERR  GEHEIMRATH: 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  you  remember  a  little  girl 
called  Ernestine  Hartwich,  whose  life  you  once  saved, 
but  I  do  know  that,  even  if  you  do  not  remember  her, 
you  will  not  refuse  aid  to  any  one  who  appeals  to  you. 
I  have  sent  an  application  to  the  University  here  to  be 
allowed  to  attend  the  lectures.  I  did  this  without  my 
guardian's  knowledge,  for  he  disapproved  of  the  plan.  I 
therefore  wish  to  keep  the  matter  a  secret  from  him  until 
results  shall  reconcile  him  to  my  mode  of  proceeding." 

"  Very  considerate,"  interposed  the  Staatsrathin  ironi- 
cally ;  "  but  let  us  proceed." 

"  My  request  to  you  is,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  will 
arrange  matters  so  that  the  reply  of  the  faculty  to  my 
application  shall  reach  me  without  my  uncle's  knowledge, 
and,  indeed,  that  you  will  convey  it  to  me  yourself.  I 
also  need  your  medical  advice,  for  I  am  far  from  well, 
and  my  uncle  has  never  permitted  me  to  see  a  physi- 
cian. I  obeyed  his  wishes  until  I  learnt  that  you  reside 

14 


158  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

in  my  neighbourhood.  Now  I  turn  to  you  with  all  my 
old  confidence.  If  any  one  can  help  me,  you  can.  I  must 
entreat  you,  if  you  would  spare  me  a  painful  scene,  to 
come  to  me  on  a  day  when  Doctor  Gleissert  is  not  at 
home.  He  goes  to  town  on  business  every  Wednesday 
and  Saturday.  I  pray  you  to  come  to  me  on  one  of  these 
days. 

"  With  great  respect, 

"  ERNESTINE  HARTWICH." 

"  Well,  that  is  certainly  more  brief  and  to  the  point 
than  might  be  expected  from  a  blue-stocking,"  said  Moritz. 

The  Staatsrathin  looked  troubled.  "It  is  dry  and  cold, 
— scarcely  courteous, — certainly  not  cordial,  as  she  might 
have  been  to  her  former  benefactor." 

"  llemember,  my  dear  friend,  that  nearly  ten  years 
have  passed  since  that  time, — a  very  long  period  for  so 
young  a  girl,"  said  Heim. 

"  Ah,  Uncle  Heim,"  cried  Angelika,  "  you  dandle  my 
boy  on  your  knee  now,  just  as  you  did  my  doll  then. 
These  years  have  passed  like  a  dream  for  me." 

"  Your  nature  is  very  different  from  Ernestine's,  my 
child,"  replied  Heim. 

"Yes,  thank  God!"  ejaculated  Moritz. 

The  Staatsrathin  folded  up  the  letter.  "  I  cannot  help 
pronouncing  this  letter  heartless, — there  is  no  other  word 
for  it.  And  mingled  cowardice  and  defiance  in  regard 
to  her  uncle  breathe  from  every  line  of  it." 

"  Proving  how  her  strong  nature  has  been  cowed  by 
that  scoundrel,"  cried  Johannes  with  warmth. 

His  mother  looked  at  him  anxiously.  "  How  could  she, 
if  she  is  such  a  strong,  noble  woman,  submit  to  be  cowed 
by  such  a  man  ?" 

"  Why  not,  dearest  mother  ?"  replied  Johannes.  "  How- 
ever noble  and  strong  she  may  be,  she  is  only  a  woman, 
after  all." 

At  this  moment  a  carriage  thundered  past  the  house. 
They  all  looked  out  of  the  windows. 

"The  Worronska!" 

"  The  fast  countess  !"  cried  Moritz.  "  What  a  model 
of  an  Amazon!  How  beautiful  she  is,  managing  those 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  159 

four  horses  and  looking  up  hero!  That  look  is  for  you, 
Johannes.  See  !  she  is  smiling  at  you." 

"  I  shall  not  interfere  with  Herbert,"  laughed  Johannes. 
"I  hear  he  is  devoted  to  her." 

"  What!  Herbert! — to  the  Worronska?"  cried  Moritz. 
"  How  did  that  happen  ?" 

"  Why,  he  was  tutor  for  some  years  to  a  friend  of  the 
count's  iu  St.  Petersburg.  He  knew  her  there,"  replied 
Johannes. 

"  Now,  that  would  be  a  charming  daughter-in-law  for 
you,  my  dear  Staatsrathin,"  said  Heim.  "  Why,  she 
would  be  even  worse  than  the  Hartwich." 

"  Bah  !"  said  Johannes.  "  She  too  is  only  a  woman. 
If  she  fell,  she  owed  her  ruin  to  a  man, — and  a  man 
might  have  been  her  saviour." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    SWAN. 

A  DARK,  gloomy  pile  overlooked  the  village  of  Hoch- 
stetten,  that  lay  about  two  miles  from  the  city,  in  the 
midst  of  a  charming  country.  It  had  once  been  called 
Hochstetten  Castle  ;  but  since  the  direct  line  of  the  noble 
family  in  which  it  had  passed  for  a  century  from  father 
to  son  had  died  out,  and  only  a  castellan  had  dwelt  there, 
to  hold  it  in  possession  for  a  distant  branch  of  its  ancient 
house,  it  had  gone  by  the  name  of  the  "Haunted  Castle" 
among  the  people  ;  for  of  course  in  such  an  old  house, 
where  so  many  men  had  died,  there  must  be  ghosts,  and 
popular  superstition  declared  that  the  spirits  of  the  de- 
parted still  hovered  about  the  spot  where  their  earthly 
forms  had  been  wont  to  wander. 

But  in  this  last  year  it  happened  that  the  castle  was 
really  inhabited  by  a  spirit  whose  appearance  inspired  the 
vulgar,  who  suspect  the  devil's  agency  in  whatever  they 
do  not  comprehend,  with  quite  as  much  horror  as  they 


160  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

had  felt  at  the  ghosts  of  their  former  lords, — although 
this  latter  spirit  still  inhabited  a  young  and  very  beautiful 
body.  Ernestine  Hartwich  had  rented  the  castle,  and, 
with  her  uncle,  was  living  her  strange  life  there.  Since 
her  arrival  the  house  and  the  overgrown  grounds  within 
the  high  walls  were  certainly  under  a  spell,  and  were 
avoided  by  all  who  were  not  obliged  to  go  that  way. 
There  lay  the  old  castle,  in  the  midst  of  lovely  bills  and 
mountain-chains,  embosomed  in  green  trees,  bathed  in 
the  sunlight  of  a  dewy  summer  morning,  and  yet  its  gray, 
ancient  walls  looked  abroad  over  the  fresh  life  of  wood  and 
plain  as  gloomily  as  if  they  hid  within  them  only  death 
and  decay. 

Two  strangers,  driving  past  in  a  light  vehicle,  gazed 
gravely  and  silently  at  the  place.  The  road  grew  some- 
what steep,  and  they  descended  and  walked  beside  the 
horse.  A  young  peasant  passed  by,  with  scythe  and 
reaping-hook,  and,  seeing  the  pleasant  faces  of  the 
strangers,  nodded  kindly  to  them.  The  elder  of  the  two 
stopped,  as  if  prompted  by  a  sudden  impulse,  and  asked, 
"What  castle  is  that?" 

"  That  ?"  was  the  reply.  "  That  is  the  Haunted  Castle." 

"  Who  lives  there  ?" 

"  The  Hartwich  lives  there.'' 

"Who  is  the  Hartwich?" 

"Why,  the  witch  who  has  rented  it." 

"Why  do  you  call  her  a  witch  ?" 

"Because  there's  something  wrong  about  her." 

"  Walk  on  with  us  a  little  way,  if  you  have  time,  and 
tell  us  something  of  the  lady,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  time  enough,"  replied  the  peasant, 
flatered  by  the  interest  that  his  remarks  had  excited. 
"  But,  good  gracious  1  I  do  not  know  where  to  begin  to 
tell  about  her.  There  is  no  beginning  and  no  end  to  it." 

"How  does  she  look  ?"  asked  the  younger  gentleman. 
"  Is  she  pretty  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  She  is  pale  and  thin,  and  has  big,  coal- 
black  eyes.  And  she  looks  so  gloomy  that  you  can  tell 
as  soon  as  you  see  her  that  she  has  an  evil  conscience." 

"  It  is  characteristic  of  the  degree  of  culture  to  which 
the  common  people  have  attained,"  said  the  elder  in  an 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  161 

undertone  to  his  companion,  "that  they  have  no  admira- 
tion for  beautiful  outlines,  but  only  for  flesh  and  colour. 
They  think  a  classic  profile  ugly  if  there  is  not  a  plump 
cheek  on  cither  side  of  it.  This  rude  taste  for  the  raw 
material  is  natural  and  excusable  in  peasants  and  com- 
mon labourers,  whose  work  is  principally  with  raw  mate- 
rial. Where  should  they  learn  anything  better?  But  it 
is  sad  to  think  how  many  of  the  educated  classes  there 
are  whose  taste  is  just  as  uncultivated,  and  who  admire 
only  the  beautiful  embodiment,  not  the  embodied  beauty." 

"Yes,"  added  the  other,  "it  is  just  so  in  spiritual  mat- 
ters. An  expression  of  thoughtfulness  is  always  strange 
and  gloomy  in  the  eyes  of  the  common  people ;  they  are 
attracted  only  by  thoughtless  gaiety.  The  stamp  of  mind 
upon  a  serious  brow  is  in  their  eyes  the  sign-manual  of 
the  evil  one.  But  how  many  among  ourselves  are  scarcely 
better  than  the  people  in  this  respect  1  We  do  not  share 
their  prejudices, — eh,  Johannes?" 

"No,  Hilsborn,  God  knows  we  do  not.  This  super- 
ficial idea  of  beauty  explains  the  fact  that  Friiulein  llart- 
wich  was  called  ugly  as  a  child,  although  she  had  a  beau- 
tiful brow,  a  fine  profile,  and  such  eyes  as  I  never  saw 
before  or  since  in  my  life, — eyes,  Hilsborn," — and  he  laid 
his  hand  upon  his  friend's  arm, — "  in  which  lay  a  world 
of  slumbering  feeling,  and  the  promise  of  bliss  unspeak- 
able for  him  who  should  awaken  it  to  life.  I  had  forgot- 
ten the  little  girl  whom  I  saw  only  once,  but  when  lately 
I  encountered  a  glance  from  the  eyes  of  that  strange, 
lovely  woman,  I  recognized  the  child  again, — the  poor, 
forsaken  child.  There  was  the  old  shy  melancholy  in 
those  eyes,  and  they  pierced  my  heart  with  a  foreboding 
pain.  I  could  have  taken  her  in  my  arms  and  borne  her 
away  from  the  hill  where  she  stood,  as  formerly  from  the 
breaking  bough  to  which  she  had  fled  from  me !" 

"  God  grant  she  be  worthy  of  such  a  man  as  you !" 
said  Hilsborn. 

"  Do  not  speak  so,  Hilsbom  ;  you  know  I  will  not 
listen  to  such  words.  Let  us  ask  this  fellow  more  about 
her." 

He  turned  to  the  young  peasant,  who  was  walking 
whistling  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

14* 


162  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Is  she  not  at  least  kind  to  the  poor  ?"  he  asked. 

"God  preserve  any  one  to  whom  she  is  kind  !  No  one 
wants  anything  from  her.  Her  uncle  distributes  some 
money  every  week,  but  only  the  very  poorest  people  take 
it,  and  they  always  cross  themselves  over  it." 

Johannes  and  Hilsborn  looked  at  each  other  with  a 
smile.  "  Then  her  evil  influence  extends  even  to  her 
charities  ?" 

"  Yes,  that's  wrhat  I  mean, — wherever  she  goes  she  car- 
ries misfortune.  She  pretends  to  know  more  than  any 
one,  and  wants  to  introduce  all  sorts  of  new-fangled  ways. 
She  wouldn't  have  people  sick  with  a  fever  covered  up 
in  good,  thick  feather  beds,  or  give  them  a  single  glass 
of  good  liquor.  All  that  was  wrong,  .she  said.  A  poor 
widow  in  the  village  had  a  sick  child,  which  she  nursed 
as  well  as  she  could.  The  Hartwich  went  to  see  her, 
and  overpersuaded  the  woman,  so  that  she  let  her  watch 
with  it  one  night.  Scarcely  had  she  seated  herself  by 
the  cradle  when  the  child  grew  worse,  and  fell  into  con- 
vulsions. The  Hartwich  sent  the  mother  to  the  castle  to 
send  off  a  man  on  horseback  for  the  doctor,  arid  was  left 
all  alone  with  the  child.  When  the  woman  got  back 
from  the  castle  the  witch  had  the  child  on  her  lap,  and 
the  poor  little  thing  was  dying.  The  woman,  frantic 
with  terror,  tore  the  little  body  out  of  her  arms  ;  but  it 
was  dead !  and  the  Hartwich  left  her,  as  she  would  not 
hear  a  word  from  her.  When  the  doctor  came,  he  talked 
all  sorts  of  stuff,  and  wanted  to  have  the  child  dissected, 
as  they  call  it;  but  of  course  no  Christian  mother  would 
allow  such  a  thing,  and  no  one  knew  what  the  Hartwich 
had  done  to  the  poor  little  creature." 

"  But,  you  foolish  people,"  began  Johannes  indig- 
nantly, "  you  do  not  suppose " 

Hilsborn  signed  to  him  to  be  silent.  "  Hush  !"  he 
said  in  a  whisper ;  "  will  you  attempt  what  the  gods  try 
vainly — to  contend  with  stupidity?" 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Johannes.  "  This  people  needs 
the  teaching  of  centuries." 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said,  again  addressing  the 
peasant,  "  what  happened  then  ?" 

"  Why,  that  very  night,  after  the  doctor  was  gone,  the 


OR  A  rriYsrciAN-  FOR  THE  SOUL,         103 

Hartwich  came  to  the  woman  and  offered  her  money, — I 
suppose  to  induce  her  to  hold  her  tongue, — but  the  poor 
thing  showed  her  the  door,  and  told  her  what  she  thought 
of  her." 

"  That  was  her  thanks!"  murmured  Johannes. 

"  Since  then  she  goes  to  see  no  one,  and  we  are  quit 
of  her." 

"  Was  this  unfortunate  instance  the  only  one  ?"  asked 
Johannes,  "  or  has  she  done  any  further  mischief?" 

"Oh,  yes,  quantities!  Once  she  persuaded  a  man  to 
go  to  the  city  and  have  his  leg  taken  off, — he  had  injured 
it  ten  years  before.  The  man  died  in  the  city,  and  left  a 
wife  and  children.  If  that  witch  had  not  sent  him  there, 
he  would  have  been  living  still.  He  had  managed  to 
live  with  the  injury  ten  years,  and  he  might  have  borne 
it  ten  more.  The  poor  widow  heaped  her  with  curses  1" 

Johannes  exchanged  glances  with  Hilsborn. 

"  Do  you,  too,  believe  that  she  is  a  witch  ?"  he  asked 
the  peasant. 

"  Well,  if  I  don't  exactly  believe  that,  I  know  well 
enough  that  no  blessing  can  attend  her,  for  she  does  not 
love  God." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?" 

"Oh,  there  are  a  great  many  signs  of  it.  She  does 
not  like  to  hear  him  mentioned, — she  never  goes  to  church, 
and  doesn't  pray  at  home." 

"  You  cannot  be  sure  of  that,"  said  Johannes. 

"  Oho  !  yes,  I  can,  for  Harcher's  Kunigunda  is  a  maid  at 
the  castle,  and  she  tells  us  all  about  it.  For  one  thing, 
there  used  to  be  a  bell-tower  up  there,  and  the  bell  was 
always  rung  for  prayers,  morning  and  evening,  in  old 
times.  It  was  right  and  good  to  hear  the  bell  ringing 
with  the  one  in  the  village  church,  and  we  were  used  to 
it,  and  liked  it.  Even  when  the  last  of  the  family  up 
there  died,  the  village  congregation  gave  the  castellan 
two  bags  of  potatoes  every  year  that  he  might  allow  the 
ringing  to  continue.  But  when  the  Hartwich  came,  what 
did  she  do?  Why,  she  tore  down  the  bell-tower  and 
made  it  into  an  observatory,  as  she  calls  it,  where  she 
sits  for  nights  long  and  counts  the  stars." 

"  Well,  if  she  looks  up  into  heaven  so  much,  she  must 


164  ONLY  A  GIRL; 

surely  think  of  God  and  his  works  there,"  rejoined  Jo- 
hannes smiling,  "and  those  who  love  to  pray  do  not  need 
to  be  reminded  of  it  by  the  ringing  of  bells." 

"  No,  no  !  that  is  not  so, "the  peasant  obstinately  main- 
tained, "  She  does  not  wish  to  be  reminded  of  prayer, 
or  she  would  have  loved  the  clear  sound  of  the  bell,  as 
we  did,  and  would  have  left  it  hanging  where  it  had  rung 
out  comfort  and  religion  for  a  hundred  years.  She  might 
have  built  her  star-chamber  upon  the  old  tower  all  the 
same,  if  she  had  wanted  to, — but  she  did  not  want  to, — 
and  so  we  hated  her  from  the  first." 

Johannes  and  Hilsborn  looked  grave. 

"  Books  she  has  in  plenty;  she  brought  whole  chests- 
full  with  her,  but  never  a  hymn-book  or  prayer-book, 
Kunigunda,  who  dusts  them,  says,  and,  search  as  she 
may,  she  has  never  seen  a  Bible  there  yet.  And  the 
Hartwieh  never  mentions  the  name  of  God ;  and  if  any 
one  docs  it  before  her,  she  talks  of  something  else  in- 
stantly. But  the  worst  of  all  is  that  she  has  a  room 
there  that  no  one,  except  her  uncle  and  herself,  is  allowed 
to  enter,  and  she  always  locks  the  door  when  she  is  there 
with  her  uncle.  What  they  do  there  no  living  soul  knows, 
but  Kunigunda  tells  all  sorts  of  strange  stories  about  it, 
for  she  has  often  listened  at  the  door,  and  sometimes  got 
a  peep  inside  when  the  Friiulein  was  going  in  or  coming 
out.  She  says  there  are  all  kinds  of  strange  things  in 
there,  such  as  no  honest  man  knows  anything  about, — 
black  tablets,  with  eyes  and  ears  painted  on  them,  and 
burning  flames,  and  bellows,  and  Heaven  only  knows 
what  beside  !  And  she  has  heard  dreadful  noises,  that 
were  not  of  this  world, — sometimes  sounds  as  sweet  as 
the  organ  plays  in  the  church,  and  theji  a  rustle  and 
roar  as  of  a  mighty  wind,  although  not  a  breeze  is  stirring 
outside,  or  blasts  of  a  trumpet  like  the  trumpet  of  Jericho, 
so  that  she  ran  away  in  deadly  fright." 

"  Those  were  experiments  in  sound,"  said  Johannes, 
greatly  amused,  to  Ililsborn. 

"  And  Kunigunda  says  that  it  is  often  so  light  in  that 
room  that  the  rays  through  the  keyhole  dazzle  her  just 
like  sunlight,  although  the  sun  has  long  been  set  outside. 
Kunigunda  declares  that  it  is  not  common  light, — it  burns 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  165 

quite  blue,  and  she  had  to  shut  her  eye  quickly  not  to  be 
blinded  by  it.  Now,  what  sort  of  light  is  that  ?  What 
business  has  she  with  fire  and  flames  ?  And  Kunigunda 
says  she  is  almost  always  up  until  morning,  and  scarcely 
sleeps  at  all.  Oh,  she  leads  a  godless  life, — for,  if  God 
had  not  intended  men  to  wake  in  the  daytime  and  sleep 
at  night,  He  would  not  have  made  night  dark  and  day 
light;  and  if  she  were  doing  any  good,  why  should  she 
shun  the  daylight  when  she  does  it?  Kunigunda  says, 
too,  that  she  tortures  poor  dumb  animals  just  for  pleas- 
ure, for  she  has  often  seen  how  she  and  her  uncle  carry 
rabbits  and  such  creatures  into  their  secret  chamber,  and 
they  never  bring  them  out  again.  Now,  what  do  they 
do  with  the  poor  things  ?  They  cannot  eat  the  rabbits. 
And  Kunigunda  will  swear  that  there  arc  a  couple  of 
skulls  in  the  book-room,  tumbling  about  among  the  old 
books.  Now,  I  ask,  what  Christian  would  take  the  head 
away  from  a  dead  man  and  spoil  his  rest  in  the  grave  ? 
Is  it  not  just  dishonouring  a  corpse  out  of  devilish  wan- 
tonness ?" 

"  There  certainly  is  a  whole  mountain  of  charges  tow- 
ering between  Fraulein  Hartwich  and  her  neighbours," 
whispered  Johannes  to  his  friend,  "  and  I  see  clearly 
that  the  curse  of  singularity  has  pursued  her  even  hither, 
and  that  this  rare  creature  is  repulsed  and  isolated  here 
as  she  was  as  a  child.  It  is  high  time  that  some  strong 
arm  should  bear  her  hence  into  the  purer  atmosphere  of  a 
warm,  healthy  existence,  from  which  her  eccentricity  has 
hitherto  excluded  her." 

"  Do  you  see  that  green  balcony  there  ?"  said  the 
peasant,  when  they  were  quite  near  the  house.  "  There 
she  has  hanging  a  kind  of  cittern  that  plays  of  itself.  I 
would  not  believe  Kunigunda,  when  she  told  me  of  it,  at 
first;  but  then  I  hid  myself  here  once,  and  heard  it  with 
my  own  ears,  the  music  softer  and  sweeter  than  any  that 
human  hands  can  make.  I  could  feel  it  beginning  to 
bewitch  me." 

"  Indeed  !  and  how  did  it  feel  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  heart  grew  so  soft,  so  different  from  usual, 
— just — just  as  if  I  had  been  drinking  linden-blossom 
tea.  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  girl  I  loved,  who 


166  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

is  dead,  and  I  could  have  listened  forever.  Suddenly  I 
bethought  me  that  there  was  a  spell  weaving  around  me, 
and  I  ran  away  as  fast  as  I  could." 

"  That  was  an  JEolian  harp,  my  good  friend,"  Johannes 
explained  ;  "  its  strings  were  stirred  by  no  spirit  hand, 
but  by  the  wind.  The  spell  that  you  perceived  was  only 
the  etfect  of  the  beautiful  tones  upon  your  ear  and  heart ; 
and  if  you  had  examined  yourself,  you  would  have  found 
that,  when  you  were  thinking  of  your  dead  sweet-heart, 
you  were  better  than  when  you  are  sitting  in  the  village 
inn  abusing  the  Hartwich.  Consider  for  a  moment 
whether  an  evil  spirit  could  inspire  such  good,  tender 
sensations.  And  listen  as  often  as  you  can  to  the  ^Eoliun 
harp;  it  will  not  bewitch  you, — it  will  only  do  good  to 
you." 

The  fellow  looked  in  amazement  at  the  kindly  speaker. 

"  I  don't  exactly  understand  you,  sir,  but  you  seem  to 
mean  well." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  asked  Johannes, — "you 
do  not  know  me." 

"  Oh,  why,  you  look  honest  and  good,  sir,"  said  the 
peasant,  looking  frankly  into  Johannes's  face. 

"  Then  believe  what  I  say,  when  I  tell  you  that  you 
do  Friiulein  Hartwich  great  wrong.  I  have  known  her 
from  childhood,  and  I  know  that  she  is  good  and  kind  !" 

Johannes  sent  an  earnest  glance  towards  the  castle, 
which  they  were  passing.  An  elderly  woman  was  just 
opening  a  window  in  an  upper  story. 

"  Look  !"  cried  the  peasant,  "that  is  her  housekeeper, 
Frau  \\Mllmers.  The  Friiulein  is  just  getting  up — it  is 
nine  o'clock." 

"  God  bless  your  awakening !"  Johannes  breathed 
softly  to  himself. 

And,  borne  on  the  breeze  of  morning  and  the  fragrance 
of  flowers,  the  blessing  was  wafted  up  to  the  girl,  who, 
weary  with  her  night-watch,  was  reposing  by  the  open 
window.  She  laid  her  head  upon  the  sill,  and  the  fra- 
grant summer  air  fanned  her  brow.  Johannes's  words 
floated  around  her  in  a  sea  of  light  and  warmth,  and  she 
felt  them  without  hearing  them.  At  last  she  opened  her 
burning  eyelids,  and  looked  abroad,  seeing  everything  at 


OR  A  nn'siciAX  FOR  THE  SOUL.         157 

first  through  the  gray,  misty  veil  which  weariness  spread 
before  her  eyes, — but  gradually  was  revealed  in  its  full 
splendour  the  sunny  picture,  above  which  arched  the 
clear,  cloudless  firmament.  She  arose  and  leaned  out  with 
a  deep  sigh  of  pain.  She  knew  no  happiness  but  that  of 
gratified  ambition, — she  could  imagine  no  other,  and  there- 
fore desired  no  other,  for  we  cannot  desire  that  of  which 
we  have  no  conception, — and  yet,  in  the  sunlight  laughing 
around  her,  in  the  gloom  of  night,  in  the  beauty  of  the 
valley  and  the  grandeur  of  the  mountains,  a  promise  of  a 
far  different  happiness  beckoned  to  her,  and  she  pined  in 
longing  for  it  without  recognizing  it.  Yes,  from  every 
voice  of  nature,  from  the  song  of  birds,  the  murmur  of 
the  brook,  the  roaring  of  the  tempest,  and  the  muttering 
of  the  thunder,  a  call  was  ringing  in  her  ears,  she  knew 
not  whence  or  whither,  but  she  would  willingly  have 
plunged  into  the  ocean  to  follow  it. 

"  There  is  no  surer  means  of  preventing  all  aimless  de- 
sires than  study,  nothing  better  to  prevent  all  abstract 
dreaming  than  absorption  in  some  specialty,"  her  uncle 
had  told  her  when  he  suspected  her  of  moods  like  that  we 
have  just  described.  "If  you  long  to  grasp  the  whole, 
first  grasp  a  part, — if  you  thirst  to  fly  to  heaven,  remem- 
ber that  the  observatory  is  the  only  way  thither, — if  you 
desire  to  feel  the  warm  throb  of  life,  you  can  find  it  no- 
where so  satisfactorily  as  at  the  dissecting-table." 

And  she  had  turned  away  silently,  uncomplainingly, 
from  her  flight  to  distant  realms,  to  the  telescope,  and 
with  a  warm,  swelling  heart  that  would  have  embraced 
a  world,  had  busied  herself  with  analyzing  microscopic 
organizations.  Thus,  in  the  course  of  long  years,  she 
had  grown  used  to  suppress  emotions  such  as  she  experi- 
enced to-day,  and  they  seldom  came  to  the  surface,  just 
as  the  bells  of  the  sunken  city  are  only  heard  above  the 
sea  on  Sunday.  To-day  was  not  Sunday,  but  it  was  an 
anniversary.  Ten  years  ago  to-day  she  had  been  sent 
to  her  first  and  only  party, — her  father  had  almost  killed 
her, — and  the  whole  current  of  her  life  had  been  changed. 
She  knew  the  date  perfectly,  for  the  next  day  was  the 
anniversary  of  her  father's  death.  The  familiar  forms 
of  those  days  hovered  around  her;  they  were  the  only 


168  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

ones  that  had  ever  approached  her  nearly,  for  since  that 
time  she  had  had  no  intimate  relations  with  any  one.  She 
had  studied  mankind,  but  human  beings  were  strangers 
to  her.  And  as  she  thought  and  pondered,  she  wished 
herself  again  the  child  that  ran  races  with  the  wind  and 
cradled  herself  among  the  storm-tossed  boughs.  Oh  for  one 
breath  of  hopeful  childhood,  one  throb  of  that  love-thirsty 
heart,  one  tear  of  that  wrestling  faith  1  All  dead  and 
silent  now,  every  blossom  of  childhood  and  youth  faded: 
a  woman,  old  at  two-and-twenty,  looking  down  from  the 
heights  of  passionless  contemplation  upon  a  life,  lying 
behind  her,  that  she  has  never  enjoyed,  upon  a  time,  now 
past,  that  she  has  never  lived.  Sighing,  she  turned  away 
from  the  sunny  landscape.  "  Our  life  lasts  seventy — 
perhaps  eighty — years,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and  the  de- 
light of  it  is  labour  and  trouble."  This  reading,  by  a 
great  modern  philosopher,  of  the  golden  words  of  the 
ancient  writings,  she  had  adopted  as  her  motto,  and  it 
still  possessed  its  old  charm  for  her.  What  more  could 
she  desire  of  life  than  labour  and  trouble  ?  What  could 
youth  or  age  bring  her  beyond  these  ?  She  turned  away 
from  the  window,  and  quickly  arranged  in  thick  braids 
around  her  head  her  loosened  hair  which  had  fallen  down 
like  a  black  veil.  Her  glance,  as  she  did  so,  fell  only  pass- 
ingly and  indifferently  upon  the  mirror.  She  never  saw 
the  face  that  gazed  at  her  from  its  depths, — a  face  as  fault- 
lessly beautiful  as  an  artist's  fancy  pictures  those  dark, 
melancholy  female  forms  with  which  the  ancients  peopled 
the  night.  She  dressed  herself  in  simple  white,  and  then 
her  arms  dropped  wearied  at  her  side.  The  expression 
of  strength  that  the  word  labour  had  called  into  her  face 
gave  way  to  a  profound  melancholy,  almost  despair,  and 
she  sank  exhausted  upon  a  couch.  She  sat  still  for  one 
moment,  her  head  sunk  upon  her  breast,  and  then  the 
large  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"Labour  is  a  delight,  when  one  has  strength  for  it — 
but  I  have  none!"  she  said,  clasping  her  knees  with  her 
small,  transparent  hands,  .while  she  gazed  despairingly 
towards  the  distant  horizon. 

The  housekeeper,  Frau  Willmers,  entered.  "A  gentle- 
man is  waiting  below,  Friiulein  Hartwicb,  who  sends 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  169 

this  card  and  says  he  comes  from  the  gentleman  whose 
name  is  written  upon  it." 

Ernestine  read  the  name  "Professor  Heim,"  and  below, 
in  Helm's  handwriting,  "  earnestly  recommends  the  bearer 
of  this  card." 

"  The  gentleman  is  welcome !"  she  cried  with  awakened 
animation.  "  Show  him  into  the  library." 

"  Will  the  Friiulein  receive  him  without  the  knowledge 
of "  the  woman  asked  with  hesitation  and  surprise. 

"I  will!"  replied  Ernestine  firmly. 

"Now,  Heaven  be  praised  !"  muttered  the  old  woman, 
"that  you  are  to  see  some  one  at  last,  and  the  gentleman 
is  well  worth  a  look.  But  you  will  bear  the  blame  with 
your  uncle,  so  that  I  may  have  no  responsibility  in  the 
matter  ?" 

"The  responsibility  is  mine." 

Frau  Willmers  hurried  out  and  conducted  the  stranger 
into  Ernestine's  library. 

A  pleasant  bluish  twilight  reigned  in  the  room  as  he 
entered  it,  caused  by  the  heavy  blue  damask  curtains  that 
draped  the  high  bow-windows.  It  was  a  spacious  octa- 
gon apartment,  in  the  style  of  the  tower  chambers  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  opening  on  to  a  balcony,  which  was  likewise 
separated  from  the  room  by  blue  damask  curtains.  The 
^Eoliau  harp,  of  which  the  peasant  had  spoken,  hung  in 
the  balcony,  and  some  loosened  tendrils  of  a  wild  grape- 
vine, growing  outside,  stirred  by  the  breeze,  touched  the 
strings  and  called  forth  from  them  broken  stray  notes, 
which  a  stronger  breeze  would  blend  in  harmony,  as  the 
fingers  of  a  child,  guided  by  its  teacher,  phiys  vaguely 
upon  an  instrument  until  the  practised  hand  of  its  master 
produces  a  full,  clear  chord.  In  the  dark  boughs  that 
overshadowed  the  balcony,  birds  were  singing,  and  now 
and  then  hopping  confidingly  upon  the  rose-bushes  with 
which  it  was  decorated. 

"  She  loves  beauty,"  thought  the  stranger  with  a  pleased 
glance  around  the  cool,  quiet  apartment,  which  breathed 
only  contentment  and  peace.  And  it  must  be  true  peace 
of  mind  that  the  inhabitant  of  this  room  possessed, — 
wherever  the  eyes  were  turned,  they  fell  upon  the  immor- 
tal works  of  the  great  thinkers  of  modern  times, — a  costly 

15 


170  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

library  was  ranged  upon  shelves,  in  richly-carved  oaken 
bookcases. 

The  stranger  began  to  read  the  titles  of  the  books,  but 
the  more  he  read  the  more  thoughtful  he  became.     If  the 
contents  of  these  books  were,  or  were  to  be,  crammed 
into  one  woman's  brain,  there  could  dwell  there  not  peace, 
but  only  torturing  unrest,  strife.     At  last  his  eye  rested 
upon  a  writing-table  of  dark  oak,  richly  carved,  as  was 
all  the  rest  of  the  furniture  of  the  room.     Around  the 
edge  of  the  table,  cut  in  raised  letters,  he  read  the  sen- 
tence, "Our  life  lasts  seventy — perhaps  eighty — years, 
and  the  delight  of  it  is  labour  and  trouble!'     He  gazed 
long  and  thoughtfully  at  this  motto,  so  strangely  grave 
for  so  young  a  girl.     A  shade  of  melancholy  passed  over 
his  handsome  face  as  he  turned  away  and  noticed  the 
scores  of  sheets  of  paper  scattered   here  and  there  on 
the  table,  all  containing  either  a  few  figures  or  written 
sentences,  evidently  hurried  beginnings  of  scientific  labour 
of  all  kinds,  tossed  aside,  as  it  appeared,  hastily  and  im- 
patiently.    Partly  on  the  table,  partly  on  a   desk,  and 
partly  on  the  floor,  were  piles  of  open  books,  their  mar- 
gins filled  with  annotations,  pamphlets,  &c.     Names  like 
Helmholtz,  du  Bois,  Ludwig,  Darwin,  &c.  showed  what 
massive  material  this  bold  aspiring  mind  was  calling  to 
its  aid,  over  what  mountains  of  labour  it  was  pursuing 
the  path  to  its  ambitious  aims.     "  So  much  vital  force 
wasted  in  fruitless  energy — so  much  noble  zeal  expended 
upon  a  blunder.     What  a  pity!"  said  the  stranger  with 
an  involuntary  sigh.     Then  he  noticed  just  in  front  of  the 
writing-table  a  small   open  drawer,  in  which  Ernestine 
apparently  kept  her  most  precious  and  valuable  books. 
One  of  them  was  Mollrier's  latest  work  on  Physiology; 
another,  du   Bois'  Eulogy  upon  Johannes  Miiller;  and 
the  third,  Andersen's  Fairy  Tales. 

The  grave  man's  features  showed  signs  of  deep  emo- 
tion at  this  sight.  Only  a  strong,  true  nature  could  so 
preserve  the  memories  of  its  childhood.  He  could  not 
help  taking  the  book  in  his  hand  to  examine  it  more 
closely.  As  he  did  so,  he  noticed  a  little  marker  of  paper 
yellowed  with  age.  It  was  placed  in  the  last  pages  of 
the  storv  of  the  TJglv  Duckling,  just  where  the  children 

»/  O    •/  O*     J 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  171 

stand  by  the  pond  and  cry,  "Look!  there  comes  a  new 
swan !"  Was  it  this,  then,  that  had  made  the  story  so 
precious  to  her — the  prophecy  that  the  duckling  would 
one  day  be  a  swan,  and  not  the  memory  of  what  had  been 
dear  to  her  childhood?  He  put  the  book  back  in  its 
place  with  a  look  that  showed  that  the  question  he  had 
put  to  himself  grieved  him.  Then  he  became  so  lost  in 
thought  that  he  was  almost  startled  when  a  door  behind 
him  opened,  and  Ernestine  approached  him.  As  he  saw 
the  tall  form,  with  its  air  of  royal  dignity,  standing  there 
calm  and  silent  in  the  noble  consciousness  of  mental  supe- 
riority, he  repeated  involuntarily  in  thought  the  words, 
"Here  is  a  new  swan!"  Yes, — the  ugly  duckling  had 
unfolded  its  wings!  For  one  moment  his  heart  throbbed 
violently.  It  cost  him  an  effort  to  preserve  his  compo- 
sure. 

"  I  crave  forgiveness,  Frilulein  Hartwich,"  he  began, 
"for  venturing  to  offer  my  medical  skill  in  place  of  his 
for  whom  you  sent." 

"If  you  come  from  Dr.  Heim,  you  are  welcome.  Is 
he  ill,  that  he  sends  me  a  substitute,  or  is  he  angry  with 
me  ?"  And  Ernestine  looked  gravely  and  fixedly  at  the 
stranger. 

"Neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  Friiulein  Hartwich," 
was  the  reply.  "  He  has  merely  permitted  me  to  use 
his  name  as  the  talisman  to  unlock  this  enchanted  castle." 

"  And  why  so  ?"  asked  Ernestine,  regarding  him  still 
more  attentively. 

"Because  I  am  convinced  that  I  understand  the  treat- 
ment of  your  case  better  than  Dr.  Heim." 

Ernestine  started,  and  turned  away  from  the  arrogant 
speaker.  Her  face  darkened  with  momentary  displeasure, 
— but  not  long.  She  raised  her  large  eyes  to  him  again  and 
said  frankly,  "No,  you  are  not  in  earnest.  Heim  would 
not  have  sent  me  a  physician  as  vain  and  conceited  as 
these  words  make  you  appear!" 

Johannes  offered  her  his  hand  with  a  smile.  "Boldly 
spoken,  Friiulein  Hartwich, — I  thank  you  !  Neverthe- 
less, I  must  rest  under  the  charge  of  vanity  and  arro- 
gance until  you  declare  me  innocent,  for  I  only  uttered 
Dr.  Heini's  honest  conviction  and  my  own.  You  shake 


172  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

your  head,  and  do  not  comprehend  me.  I  hope  you 
will  do  so  soon.  How  could  I  have  had  the  courage  to 
challenge  your  displeasure  by  so  bold  an  assertion,  had 
I  not  been  sure  that  time  would  justify  my  pretensions  ?" 

Ernestine  motioned  to  him  to  be  seated.  "May  I  be 
permitted,  sir,  to  request  your  name  before  speaking 
further  with  you  ?" 

Johannes  cast  at  her  a  glance  of  kindly  entreaty.  "  I 
pray  you  allow  me  to  suppress  it  for  the  present.  I  should 
so  like  to  inspire  you  with  confidence  in  me  for  my  own 
sake,  without  the  aid  of  a  name  perhaps  not  unknown  to 
you.  Such  confidence  would  be  so  precious  to  me.  Call 
it  a  whim,  if  you  will,  but  I  beg  you  to  indulge  me  1'' 

"As  you  please,  sir,"  said  Ernestine  with  some  con- 
straint, looking  keenly  at  him  as  she  spoke.  She  seemed 
to  be  searching  in  his  handsome  face  for  something, — she 
scarce  knew  what, — it  seemed  to  suggest  some  dim  recol- 
lection to  her  mind.  Then  she  dropped  her  glance,  as  if 
comparing  what  she  saw  with  some  image  in  her  memory, 
yet  without  arriving  at  any  satisfactory  conclusion. 

Johannes  watched  every  expression  of  her  countenance. 
No  shade  of  thought  passing  across  that  broad  white  brow 
escaped  him.  He  gazed  at  her  and  almost  forgot  to 
speak,  she  was  so  wondrously  beautiful,  this  shy,  grave 
girl,  pale  and  suffering  from  her  devotion  to  the  studies 
to  which  she  was  sacrificing  herself  with  such  religious 
zeal.  The  saddest  error  would  be  touching  in  such  a 
form, — yes,  we  must  bow  before  it,  instead  of  laughing  at 
it.  So  thought  Johannes  as  he  sat  silent  before  her,  and 
something  of  what  was  passing  in  his  mind  must  have 
been  mirrored  in  his  features,  for  Ernestine  turned  away 
with  a  shade  of  embarrassment,  and  asked  suddenly, 
"Well,  sir,  and  what  news  do  you  bring  me  of  Father 
Heim  ?  Is  he  still  vigorous  in  mind  and  body  ?" 

The  indifference  of  her  tone  rather  nettled  Johannes. 
"Yes,  Fraulein  Hartwich,  he  is  indeed.  Beloved  and 
revered  by  his  associates,  as  well  as  by  his  patients,  the 
evening  of  his  days  is  calm  and  cheerful." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  I  am  bound  to  him  by  ties 
of  gratitude,  he  has  done  much  for  me,  at  one  time  he 
saved  my  life.  Therefore  I  hoped  for  benefit  now  from 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  173 

his  prescriptions.  He  is  a  great  practitioner,  although 
he  has  not  quite  kept  pace  in  his  old  age  with  the  march 
of  modern  science." 

"  He  certainly  is.  But  he  can  do  nothing  for  your 
gravest  malady,  and  therefore  he  has  sent  me  in  his 
place." 

"You  are,  then,  famous  for  some  specialite.  But  how 
can  Dr.  Heini  know  that  I  need  such  a  physician  ?" 

"  He  does  know  it,  for  you  were  attacked  as  a  child  by 
the  malady  of  which  I  speak,  and  Dr.  Heim  was  power- 
less to  effect  a  cure.  Now  that  he  is  convinced  that  my 
method  of  cure  is  efficacious,  he  has  adopted  me  as  his 
assistant.  Therefore  I  ask  you  frankly  and  openly, 
Will  you  have  me  for  your  physician  ?  Yes  or  no  !" 

For  a  moment  Ernestine  made  no  answer,  and  then 
said  firmly,  "Yes,  if  Dr.  Heim  believes  that  you  can 
restore  me  to  health,  it  is  sufficient,  and  I  will  follow  your 
prescriptions  implicitly." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Johannes;  "but  I  warn  }rou 
beforehand,  I  am  a  strict  physician,  and  my  medicines 
are  bitter  1" 

"Scarcely  as  bitter  as  disease?"  said  Ernestine  in- 
quiringly. 

"Who  can  say  ?  To  speak  with  perfect  sincerity,  Friiu- 
lein  Hartwich,  the  malady  from  which  I  come  to  relieve 
you,  the  disease  that  poisons  your  past  and  your  future, 
is  your  uncle's  influence  1" 

Ernestine  stood  up.     "Sir!" 

"  Hear  me  before  you  condemn  me  !  I  assert  nothing 
that  I  cannot  prove." 

"  No,  sir,  I  will  not  hear  you.  You  do  my  uncle  gross 
injustice,  whatever  proofs  you  may  adduce.  A  life  of 
self-sacrifice  and  devotion  far  outweighs  the  accusation 
of  a  stranger.  What  do  I  not  owe  to  him  ?  What 
has  he  not  done  for  me?  I  owe  to  him  my  scientific 
culture.  He  has  made  me  what  I  am." 

"And  may  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  if  you  are  so  very 
sure  that  you  are  what  you  should  be  ?" 

A  pause  ensued.  Ernestine  retreated  a  step,  and, 
offended  and  confused,  cast  down  her  eyes. 

15* 


If 4  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Johannes  continued.  "  What  if  I  were  come  to  prove 
that  you  are  not?" 

Ernestine  looked  sullenly  at  him.  "  I  certainly  cannot 
answer  you  here  ;  but  your  depreciation  of  me  forces  me 
to  ask  whether  you  have  read  anything  that  I  have  writ- 
ten, and  so  have  come  to  form  so  poor  an  opinion  of  my 
abilities  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  Friiulein  Hartwich,  your  essay  upon 
Reflex  Motion  is  full  of  talent,  and  your  article  upon  the 
Capacity  of  the  Eye  for  Stereoscopic  Visiou  has  wou 
the  prize." 

Ernestine  started.  Her  face  flushed,  her  eyes  sparkled. 
"  Why  have  you  waited  until  now  to  tell  me?  31y  e.-.-;iv 
won  the  prize!  Do  I  wake,  or  am  I  dreaming?  Oh, 
how  can  I  thank  you  for  this  intelligence?  I  have  no 
words.  But  let  your  reward  be  the  consciousness  that 
you  have  given  me  the  greatest  happiness  my  life  has 
ever  known!  And  do  not  attempt  to  malign  to  me  the 
man  to  whose  disinterested  care  for  my  education  I 
owe  it." 

"Poor  girl,  if  this  is  your  greatest  happiness!  You 
are  betrayed  indeed,  if  you  owe  no  other  enjoyment  to 
your  uncle  !" 

"Oh,  sir,  what  can  there  be  beyond  fame  and  honour?" 

Johannes  looked  gravely  at  her.  "  Something  of  which 
your  uncle  has  never  told  you." 

In  the  flush  of  her  gratified  ambition,  Ernestine  did 
not  hear  him.  She  walked  a  few  steps  to  and  fro,  then 
seated  herself  again,  and  said  with  a  beating  heart, 
"  Perhaps  }'ou  also  bring  the  answer  to  my  application 
for  admission  to  the  lectures  at  the  University." 

"  I  do,  but  it  has  been  rejected  decidedly,  Friiulein 
Hartwich." 

Ernestine's  arms  dropped  at  her  sides.  "Rejected! 
Was  it  known,  when  they  rejected  it,  that  the  prize  essay 
was  mine  ?" 

"  It  was." 

Ernestine  stood  for  one  moment  as  if  stunned.  At  last 
she  began  slowly  and  dejectedly,  "Ah,  1  understand  it 
all !  the  gentlemen  took  the  author  of  that  treatise  for  a 
man,  and  awarded  it  the  prize,  but  my  application  was 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  175 

refused  because  I  am  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  a  woman. 
It  is  only  natural,  why  should  a  woman  be  permitted  to 
vie  with  the  lords  of  creation  ?" 

"  Your  disappointment  makes  you  unjust,"  said  Jo- 
hannes. "  Your  essay  received  the  prize  because  it 
accomplished  what  it  aimed  at.  The  application  of  the 
woman  was  rejected  because  in  the  University  no  woman 
can  accomplish  what  should  be  her  aim." 

"  How  can  you  prove  that  ?"  asked  Ernestine  with  bit- 
terness. 

"  Because  she  has  deserted  the  sphere  which  nature 
has  assigned  her,  and  cannot  fulfil  the  requirements  of  the 
one  that  she  has  selected  for  herself." 

"  You,  then,  are  one  of  my  opponents  ?" 

"  I  am,  Fraulein  Hartwich." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  !" 

"  Why  ?  Of  what  consequence  can  the  opinion  of  a 
stranger  be  to  you  ?" 

Ernestine  looked  down.  "  The  impression  that  you 
make  upon  me,  sir,  is  such  that  it  pains  me  to  find  that 
you  are  one  of  those  narrow-minded  persons  who  deny  to 
women  the  possession  of  any  but  the  humblest  ability." 

"You  are  mistaken,  I  think  them,  and  especially  your 
self,  possessed  of  very  great  ability." 

Ernestine  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  "But  how 
can  this  ability  avail  us,  if  we  are  not  allowed  to  enlarge 
the  bounds  of  the  sphere  within  which  we  aro  so  unkindly 
confined  at  present  ?" 

"  That  sphere  does  not  seem  to  me  contracted.  I  think 
it  so  noble,  so  elevated,  that  the  loftiest  talent  may  well 
content  itself  within  it,  if  it  be  rightly  understood." 

"  But  if  a  woman,  if  I — forgive  my  presumption, — am 
especially  endowed  beyond  other  women,  should  I  not, 
with  the  power,  possess,  also  the  privilege  of  transcend- 
ing the  usual  bounds  ?" 

"You  would  then  possess  the  privilege  of  ennobling 
your  sex,  of  showing  it  What  it  could  accomplish  within 
its  own  sphere, — you  would  possess  the  power  to  be  first 
among  women,  but  not  to  become  a  man." 

Ernestine  looked  down  sadly.  "  Have  you  read  my 
essay  ?" 

"  Yes." 


176  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Do  you  think  it  deserved  the  prize  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  yet  you  would  deny  me  the  right  to  accomplish 
tasks  usually  assigned  to  men." 

"  You  have  accomplished  one  such.  How  far  your 
kind  uncle  may  have  assisted  you  in  your  labor  we  will 
not  ask." 

Again  Ernestine's  eyes  drooped. 

Johannes  continued  :  "  Probably  you  yourself  are  not 
aware  of  the  answer  to  such  a  question, — at  all  events, 
the  victory  over  the  other  competitors  for  the  prize 
was  slight,  and  by  no  means  difficult.  But  do  you 
imagine,  Friiulein  Hartwich,  because  the  instinct  of  your 
genius  has  answered  this  one  question,  that  you  can 
lord  it  over  the  boundless  domain  of  science  ?  Have  you 
the  least  suspicion  of  the  magnitude  of  what  you  pro- 
pose?" 

"I  believe  I  have  learned  enough  to  know  what  there 
is  for  me  to  learn." 

"Do  not  deceive  yourself  with  regard  to  your  aim. 
You  wish  to  learn  that  you  may  teach, — not  as  every 
schoolmaster  teaches,  to  tell  what  has  been  told  you  be- 
fore,—  you  wish  to  educe  new  truths  from  what  you 
learn, — in  other  words,  you  wish  to  produce,  to  create !" 

"And  you  deny  me  the  requisite  ability?" 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Johannes;  "but  I  grant  only  one 
domain  for  the  creative  faculty  of  woman, — the  domain 
of  art, — because,  in  works  of  art,  the  heart  shares  in  the 
labour  of  the  understanding ;  because,  in  the  creation  of 
beauty,  a  profound  inner  consciousness  and  soaring  fancy 
can  replace  masculine  acuteness  of  thought — and  these 
belong  especially  to  the  gifted  woman.  But  science 
presents  tasks  for  the  thinking  power.  1  deny  to  woman 
not  the  ability  to  grasp  the  grand  results  of  science,  but 
the  mental  endurance,  the  technical  facility,  to  arrive  at 
them  unassisted." 

Ernestine  clasped  her  hands  in  entreaty.  "  Do  not 
destroy  the  hope  and  aim  of  my  life!" 

Johannes  bent  towards  her  and  said  gently,  "My  dear 
Friiulein  Hartwich,  may  your  life  have  other  aims  than 
this  that  you  can  never  attain  !" 


OR  A   PIIYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  177 

"  Never  attain  !"  cried  Ernestine,  sitting  proudly  erect. 
"  I  can  see  nothing  to  justify  those  words.  If  I  were 
only  well  and  strong,  if  my  body  were  only  a  more  obe- 
dient tool  of  my  mind,  I  would  show  what  a  woman  can 
do !  I  would  .show  that  we  are  not  merely  domestic  ani- 
mals, endowed  with  some  degree  of  reason,  as  a  certain 
class  of  men  designate  us,  but  free,  independent,  equal 
beings!  If  you  only  knew  how  my  whole  soul  re- 
volts at  our  social  oppression,  our  intellectual  slavery! 
Oh,  believe,  believe,  sir,  that  I  am  not  actuated  by  vain 
ambition,  but  I  am  wrung  with  anguish  for  those  wretched 
souls  who,  like  myself,  have  chafed  so  painfully  in  the 
fetters  of  commonplace  conventionalities,  or,  like  those 
born  blind,  have  dreamed  in  their  darkness  of  the  light 
that  floods  the  world  with  joy  and  freedom,  but  from 
which  they  are  excluded!  I  long  to  break  the  yoke 
under  which  my  whole  sex  languishes,  to  avenge  their 
wrongs.  For  this  I  will  give  my  money  and  my  blood! 
— for  this  I  resign  all  claims  to  the  happiness  of  woman! 
— yes,  for  this  I  would  sacrifice  life  itself!" 

Johannes  sat  listening  to  her  with  his  arms  folded. 
He  now  began  quietly  :  •'  I  understand  and  admire  you, 
— but  you  exaggerate.  The  social  position  of  woman 
is  determined  by  her  capacity  a'nd  her  desires.  Women 
like  yourself  are  rare  exceptions  ;  your  sex,  as  a  general 
rule,  is  at  so  low  a  stage  of  development  that  they  neither 
can  claim  nor  desire  any  higher  position." 

"And  whose  fault  is  this?"  Ernestine  interrupted  him 
eagerly.  "  Yours, — you  masters  of  the  world.  If  we  are 
intellectually  your  inferiors,  why  not  educate  us  more 
thoroughly?  Why  not  elevate  us  to  a  higher  degree  of 
intelligence  ?  It  is  for  your  strong  hands  to  form  us  as 
you  will.  And  nowhere  in  Christian  lands  is  the  po- 
sition of  woman  more  depressing  than  in  this  country. 
Look  at  Russia,  the  land  that  so  long  retained  serfdom 
and  the  knout, — even  there  the  number  of  learned  women 
is  perceptibly  increasing,  and  the  Russian  high  schools  do 
nut  reject  female  pupils.  Look  at  France,  at  England, — 
women  are  everywhere  employed  and  the  sphere  of  their 
capabilities  enlarged,  and  the  sex  is  held  in  higher  esti- 
mation. Unfortunately,  I  cannot  deny  that  the  mass  of 


178  OSLY  A    GIRL; 

German  women  are  either  mere  household  drudges,  with 
never  a  thought  beyond  the  material  interests  of  the 
kitchen  and  nursery,  or  glittering  dolls,  with  no  idea  of 
anything  but  the  adornment  of  their  persons.  They  un- 
derstand little  or  nothing  of  politics,  of  the  interests  of 
their  native  land,  of  science,  or  of  poetry ;  they  go  to  art 
for  amusement,  not  for  instruction  and  refreshment.  Such 
mothers  can  never  implant  the  seeds  of  patriotism  in  the 
breasts  of  their  sons,  or  educate  the  minds  of  their  daugh- 
ters ;  such  wives  can  never  share  the  thoughts  and  aims 
of  their  husbands.  Who  is  to  blame  ?  Those  men  alone 
who  would  exclude  woman  from  their  world,  and,  deny- 
ing her  all  claim  to  intellectual  ability,  banish  her  to  the 
the  kitchen,  or  force  her  to  indemnify  herself  for  exclusion 
from  their  spiritual  life  by  rendering  herself  necessary 
to  their  material  existence  !" 

Johannes  made  no  reply.  It  was  enjoyment  enough 
for  him  to  look  at  her  and  hear  her.  lie  wished  her, 
before  attempting  to  reply,  to  her,  to  finish  all  that  she 
had  to  say. 

Ernestine  continued:  "All  this  constitutes  the  igno- 
miny of  my  sex, — an  ignominy  that  must  be  overcome, 
or  its  revenge  will  be  terrible  ;  for  luxury  and  self-indul- 
gence have  been  the  ruin  of  those  nations  who  rendered 
no  homage  to  the  spiritual  nature  of  woman.  We  must 
force  this  reverence  from  you,  at  any  risk,  before  it  is  too 
late.  Smile,  if  you  will,  at  my  presumption  in  arrogating 
the  place  of  a  feminine  Arnold  von  Winkelried,  breaking 
a  path  for  our  spiritual  freedom  through  the  lances  of 
contempt  and  prejudice.  I  know  what  lies  before  me. 
No  commonplace  woman  feels  any  pride  in  her  sex;  when 
one  of  her  sisters  achieves  distinction,  she  is  only  all  the 
more  galled  by  the  consciousness  of  her  own  inferiority, 
and  takes  her  revenge,  if  she  knows  no  better,  with  the 
wretched  weapons  of  conventional  prejudices,  —  casting 
the  odium  of  indelicacy  upon  the  woman  who  dares  to  be 
free;  and  men  contemptuously  close  their  doors  upon  her. 
My  lot  must  be  to  struggle  and  suffer.  Still,  I  do  not 
hesitate.  If  I  can  effect  nothing  here,  I  will  seek  other 
lands,  where  woman  striving  after  better  things  is  treated 
with  humanity  and  true  chivalry." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  179 

"Where  humanity  and  chivalry  assist  woman  to  lay 
aside  the  very  crown  of  her  being, — her  womanhood  !" 
Johannes  now  interrupted  her;  "  for  how  can  you  preserve 
it,  if  iu  anatomical  studies  you  harden  yourself  to  every- 
thing that  shocks  a  compassionate  woman,  if  you  are 
forced  into  contact  with  things  at  which  all  maidenly  deli- 
cacy must  revolt  ?  I  have  not  interrupted  you  hitherto, 
because  I  wished  thoroughly  to  understand  you,  and  be- 
cause your  sacred  zeal  touched  and  delighted  me.  With 
much  that  is  crude  and  exaggerated,  there  is  truth,  and 
beauty,  in  what  you  have  just  said.  Butrbelieve  me,  the 
physical  frame  of  a  woman  is  as  little  suited  as  her  intel- 
lect to  certain  scientific  pursuits.  I  directed  you  to  the 
broad  domain  of  the  beautiful, — of  art, — but  you  would 
not  listen  to  me — there  you  would  have  to  share  your 
fame  among  too  many.  Your  ambition  craves  something 
entirely  new  and  unheard-of.  But,  Fraulcin  Hartwich, 
this  ambition  will  be  your  ruin  !  If  you  long  to  create, 
create  forms  for  your  ideas  that  will  speak  for  themselves, 
clothe  them  in  poetic  language,  or  give  them  local  habita- 
tion and  a  name  in  art — you  can  complete  such  work,  and 
your  soul  can  find  rest  in  it  from  its  labours.  A  poetical 
idea  can  be  fully  embodied  in  a  work  of  art;  but  a  scien- 
tific hypothesis  is  inexhaustible,  because,  however  clearly 
proved  and  demonstrated,  it  brings  new  problems  in  its 
train.  Only  a  man's  rude  strength  can  endure  such  a 
restless  pursuit  that  knows  no  pause;  the  woman's  deli- 
cate nature  must  succumb  even  because  her  mind  is  so 
alive  that  she  labours  with  all  the  ardent  desire,  the 
breathless  interest,  of  the  devotee  of  science.  And  if  she 
succeeds,  at  the  sacrifice  of  her  life,  in  contributing  some 
addition  to  the  universal  stock  of  knowledge,  she  has 
done  only  what  would  have  cost  a  man  far  less  pains. 
The  result  of  her  work  is  wrung  from  her  death-agony, 
and  the  world,  with  a  shrug  of  its  shoulders,  says,  '  It  is 
about  all  that  a  woman  could  do!'  Is  praise  thus  qualified 
not  purchased  too  dearly  at  the  cost  of  health  and  life  ?" 
Ernestine  had  listened  with  intense  eagerness.  Her 
dark  eyes  were  riveted  upon  the  speaker.  As  he  ceased, 
she  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  said,  "  What  in- 
justice you  do  me  if  you  think  that  desire  for  the  world's 


180  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

applause  isthomovingspringof  my  actions!  Yes,  Idolong 
for  recognition  ;  that  I  have  confessed  to  you.  But  I  might 
have  obtained  it  more  easily  if  I  had  chosen  other  branches 
of  science,  and  my  uncle  allowed  me  to  choose.  I  selected, 
from  inclination,  natural  philosophy,  and,  in  especial, 
physiology.  I  cared  little  for  history,  because  I  care  little 
for  mankind.  Moral  philosophy  seems  to  nae  too  dog- 
matical, so  does  religion.  Nature  alone  is  always  filled 
with  new,  genuine  life.  '  There  I  know,'  as  Johannes 
M tiller  says,  'whom  I  serve  and  what  I  have.'  Phys- 
iology has  opened  a  new  world  for  me, — or,  better  still, 
has  re-created  the  old  world,  for  I  truly  see  only  when  I 
understand  what  I  am  looking  at; — every  sunbeam 
glancing  in  a  dewdrop,  every  wave  of  sound  borne  to 
my  ear  from  afar,  awakens  new  and  vivid  images  in  my 
mind.  What  enjoyment  is  comparable  to  that  which 
science  offers  us  !  She  makes  the  real  a  miracle, — and 
shows  us  the  miraculous  as  reality.  And  shall  I  resign 
this  ennobling  possession  because  I  am  a  woman  ?  And 
can  this  inspiring  search  for  life  bring  me  death  ?  Oh,  no  ! 
I  cannot,  I  will  not  believe  it!" 

Johannes  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  "  You  are  a  rarely- 
gifted  woman,  and  comprehend  the  nature  of  science. 
But,  supposing  that  you  possessed  the  rare  power — both 
of  body  and  mind — to  accomplish  the  task  which  you 
propose  to  yourself,  you  must  do  it  at  the  cost  of  your 
vocation  as  a  woman.  For  no  woman  can  fulfil  both 
these  offices.  As  a  scholar,  you  must  live  exclusively 
for  your  studies;  the  duties  of  wife  and  mother  would 
distract  you  too  much  to  admit  of  your  accomplishing 
your  purposes,  for  they  require  an  entire  lifetime.  Now 
you  have  the  courage  to  endure  the  want  of  love  and 
happiness  growing  out  of  your  determination,  but  will 
your  courage  last?  When  age  and  illness  assail  you, — 
when  you  become  weak  and  helpless  and  need  faithful, 
devoted  hands  about  you  and  true  loving  hearts  upon 
which  you  can  rest  from  weariness  and  pain,  and  there 
is  no  one  belonging  to  you, — because  you  have  chosen  to 
belong  to  no  one, — how  will  it  be  then  ?  Have  you  no 
presentiment  of  such  misery  ?  Is  there  no  desire  for 
consolation,  no  longing  for  love,  in  your  inmost  soul  ?" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  181 

Ernestine's  gaze  was  fixed  darkly  on  the  ground.  "  I 
know  nothing  of  love.  Ho\v  can  1  long  for  what  1  know 
nothing  of?" 

"  Good  heavens!  how  can  that  be?  Have  you  had  no 
parents,  relatives, — friends  who  were  dear  to  you  ?" 

"  No !  my  mother  died  at  my  birth,  and  my  father — 
who  treated  me  very  harshly,  and  did  not  eare  for  me — 
died  when  1  was  twelve  ye,ars  old.  My  guardian  became 
my  teacher  and  guide,  and  initiated  me  into  the  pursuit 
of  science.  At  no  time  of  my  life  have  I  had  any  inter- 
course with  my  equals.  I  did  not  wish  for  it.  My  uncle 
sent  his  own  little  daughter  to  a  boarding-school  and 
lived  for  me  alone,  but  the  tie  that  bound  me  to  him  was 
only  my  interest  in  science  and  his  readiness  to  gratify 
it.  He  is  cold  by  nature, — as  I  am  also.  I-  have  never 
felt  anything  for  him  but  gratitude.  I  have  always  lived 
alone,  and  have  never  loved  a  human  being." 

Johannes  was  deeply  moved.  "  Poor  girl !"  he  said. 
"  Had  you  cast  yourself  on  the  ground  at  my  feet,  bathed 
in  tears,  bewailing  the  death  of  father,  mother,  or  hus- 
band, you  could  not  have  inspired  me  with  such  pity  as 
those  words,  '  I  have  never  loved,'  awaken  within  me. 
You  look  amazed  I  The  time  will  come  when  you  will 
understand  rue, — when  by  the  depth  of  }"our  anguish 
you  will  learn  the  heights  of  bliss  from  which  you  have 
been  banished  ;  then  he,  whom  you  now  regard  as  your 
enemy,  will  be  beside  you, — to  soothe  your  grief  for  your 
lost  life, — perhaps  to  lead  you  to  one  nobler  and  better!" 

Ernestine  turned  away,  greatly  agitated.  She  would 
not  have  Johannes  observe  her  emotion,  and  therefore 
only  breathed  a  gentle  "  Farewell,"  and  would  have  left 
the  room. 

".Are  you  going?  Have  I  offended  you?  May  I  not 
come  again  ?"  he  asked. 

Ernestine  stood  still,  and  did  not  speak. 

"  May  I  not?"  he  repeated, — and  there  was  such  ur- 
gent entreaty  in  his  voice  that  it  stirred  the  very  depths 
of  Ernestine's  soul. 

There  was  one  moment  of  hesitation ;  then  she  re- 
turned to  him,  held  out  her  hand  and  said,  with  eyes 

16 


182  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

swimming  in  tears, — eyes  that  pierced  his  heart  to  the 
core : 

"  Yes;  come  again." 

"  God  bless  you !"  he  said,  with  a  long  sigh  of  relief, 
and  then,  kissing  her  hand  respectfully,  he  left  the  room. 
Shu  stood  still  where  he  had  left  her,  lost  in  thought. 

The  tones  of  the  ^Eolian  harp  floated  out  upon  the  air, 
the  roses  exhaled  fresh  fragrance,  the  birds  twittered, 
and  the  sunlight  shone  in  soft  rays  through  the  blue  cur- 
tains. She  heeded  none  of  these  things,  she  stood  there 
absorbed  in  the  pursuit  of  some  dim,  half-remembered 
image  in  the  distant  past — even  in  the  days  of  her  child- 
hood. 

Why  was  it  that  the  oak  boughs,  whither  she  had  fled 
from  the  handsome  lad,  seemed  to  rustle  around  her 
again  ?  Why  was  the  little  Angelika  so  distinct  in  her 
memory, — the  little  girl  rocking  in  her  arms  the  doll  that 
her  brother  had  sent  her,  in  the  sure  hope  that  her  ten- 
derness would  inspire  it  with  life  ? 

And  as  she  stood  there,  dreaming  in  the  midst  of 
^Bolian  tones,  fragrance,  and  light,  she  herself  was  like 
Pygmalion's  statue,  when  beneath  the  breath  of  love  the 
first  glow  of  life  informed  its  marble  breast,  and  the  cold 
lips  opened  for  its  first  sigh  ! 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    VILLAGE   SCHOOL. 

WHEN  Johannes  left  Ernestine,  he  turned  his  steps  to- 
wards the  village.  He  was  as  if  inspired  by  the  con- 
sciousness that  his  was  a  part  to  play  that  falls  to  the 
lot  of  few  men  in  this  world, — to  promote  his  own  hap- 
piness in  watching  over  and  caring  for  the  happiness  of 
another.  He  walked  on  with  the  firm,  elastic  tread  that 
belongs  to  a  strong  man  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  and 
wherever  his  glance  fell  it  scattered  seeds  of  the  kindli- 


OR  A   PHYSIC  TAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  183 

ness  which  was  reflected  in  the  smile  that  greeted  him  upon 
everv  face  that  he  met.  He  took  his  way  towards  a  little 
vine-clad  cottage  in  which  dwelt  the  patriarch  of  the  place, 
— the  village  schoolmaster.  Before  the  door  stood  Hi  1s- 
born's  vehicle,  while  a  fat  old  mastiff  was  barking  inces- 
santly at  the  horse,  who  pawed  impatiently,  and  never 
seemed  to  perceive  that  the  dog  was  evidently  only  ful- 
filling an  irksome  duty,  and  was  not  actuated  by  the 
slightest  feeling  of  hostility.  Johannes  stroked,  in  pass- 
ing, his  broad,  bristling  back,  a  caress  not  unkindly  re- 
ceived, and  then  entered  the  house,  whose  hospitable  roof 
was  so  low  that  he  was  obliged  to  stoop  as  he  crossed 
the  threshold,  lest  he  should  brush  his  forehead  against 
the  bunches  of  unripe  grapes  that  hung  down  over  the 
lintel.  He  passed  through  the  little,  dark  hall,  and 
entered  the  dwelling-room.  There  he  found  Hilsborn 
sitting  with  the  schoolmaster  upon  one  of  the  low,  broad 
window-seats,  while  the  schoolmaster's  old  wife,  Brigitta, 
sat  knitting  upon  the  other.  The  schoolmaster  was  a 
spare,  elderly  man,  with  long  gray  hair,  and  eyes  in 
whose  uncertain  depths  that  ominous  white  spot  could 
be  perceived  that  is  the  arch-enemy  of  light. 

*'  Aha  !  the  Herr  Professor,"  said  the  old  man,  rising 
to  greet  Johannes.  "  We  thought  you  had  been  en- 
chanted in  the  Haunted  Castle,  and  would  never  come 
back  to  us  again." 

"  You  may  not  have  been  so  very  far  wrong,"  said  Jo- 
hannes, shaking  the  offered  hand. 

"  Yes,  you  have  kept  us  waiting  well !"  observed  Hils- 
born. 

"  Brigitta,  dear,  will  you  make  ready  for  us  ?  These 
gentlemen  will  perhaps  do  us  the  pleasure  of  sharing 
with  us  our  mid-day  meal, — it  will  be  about  the  time  for 
their  luncheon,"  said  the  schoolmaster  to  his  wife,  who 
had  arisen  when  Johannes  entered,  and  was  awaiting 
this  hint  to  withdraw.  Johannes  and  Hilsborn  declined 
the  proffered  hospitality,  but  Frau  Brigitta  had  already 
left  the  room.  As  the. door  closed  behind  her,  the  old 
man  grew  very  grave.  "  Herr  Professor,"'  he  began,  and 
his  voice  was  a  little  hoarse,  and  his  hands  trembled 
slightly,  "  now  we  are  alone, — now  I  pray  you  tell  me  the 


184  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

truth.  I  would  not  ask  you  while  my  wife  was  here, — 
for  I  would  spare  her  un happiness  as  long  as  possible. 
But  I  must  and  will  know,  for  the  future  of  my  son  is  at 
stake.  Is  it  not  true,  Herr  Professor,  that  you  have  no 
hope  of  saving  my  eyes  ?" 

Hilsborn  made  no  reply.  His  compassionate  heart  with- 
held him  from  so  utterly  destroying  the  old  man's  hopes 
in  life.  In  his  indecision,  he  exchanged  a  glance  with 
Johannes,  which  the  old  man  observed. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  that  look,  which  I  could  see  in  spite  of 
my  increasing  blindness,  speaks  to  me  as  plainly  as  your 
silence.  I  have  long  had  no  hope  myself.  A  year  ago, 
when  my  eyes  were  so  inflamed,  1  expected  the  catastro- 
phe would  occur  from  which  your  skill  has  so  long  saved 
me.  The  question  now  is — can  my  eyes  be  operated 
upon  ?" 

Hillsborn  hesitated  again.  He  could  not  in  honour  de- 
lude the  worthy  man  with  false  hopes  only  to  have  them 
so  bitterly  crushed  in  the  future,  and  yet — who  with  a 
heart  in  his  breast  could  tell  the  sad  truth  to  that  face  of 
anxious  inquiry  ?  "  I  cannot  give  you  a  decided  answer 
at  present,"  he  said  at  last  with  some  effort. 

The  patient  man  clasped  his  hands  entreatingly,  and 
his  dim  eyes  strove  to  read  Hilsborn's  countenance.  "  Do 
not  believe,  Herr  Professor,  that  it  would  be  kind  to  de- 
ceive me.  If  I  now  know  that  I  am  incurable,  I  can  do 
instantly  what  would  be  difficult  later, — take  my  son  im- 
mediately from  the  University  and  train  him  to  be  my 
successor  here.  You  can  understand  that  if  I  am  dis- 
abled I  can  no  longer  provide  for  the  continuance  of  his 
academic  course,  and  that  it  is  best  that  the  young  man 
should  learn  as  soon  as  possible  the  destruction  of  his 
hopes,  that  he  may  reconcile  himself  to  resigning  the  lec- 
ture-room for  the  school-room.  I  know  how  hard  it  will 
be,  for  I  was  just  entering  upon  a  scientific  career  when 
I  was  excluded  from  it  by  my  father's  early  death.  And 
let  me  tell  you  that  if  my  son  bears  this  blow  well,  I 
have  nothing  more  to  fear."  His  voice  faltered  as  he 
uttered  these  last  words.  He  was  conscious  of  it,  and 
was  silent, — unwilling  to  betray  his  emotion. 

Johannes  and  Hilsborn  stood  for  one  moment,  not  know- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  185 

ing  what  to  reply.  They  could  not  console  the  unhappy 
father  by  the  assurance  that  he  would  need  no  substitute. 
They  well  knew  how  important  it  was  that  what  the 
conscientious  old  man  proposed  should  be  done.  At  last 
Hilsborn  said,  with  characteristic  gentleness,  "If  you 
wish  to  make  sure  of  a  substitute  in  case  of  the  worst, 
it  is  best  that  you  should  do  so  as  soon  as  possible,  as  in 
the  event  of  undergoing  an  operation  you  would  be  un- 
able to  work  for  a  long  time,  and,  besides,  I  cannot 
answer  for  the  result." 

"Thank  you,  kind  sir.  You  have  told  me  the  truth, 
and  now  I  know  enough,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  wiping 
his  eyes  with  a  coarse,  gaily-printed  cotton  handker- 
chief. 

"  Have  I  not  often  told  you, "said  Hilsborn,  "  that  you 
never  ought  to  touch  your  eyes  except  with  linen  cam- 
bric ?" 

"  True  !  true  !"  said  the  pale,  troubled  man,  forcing  a 
smile,  "  but  where  am  I  to  procure  such  a  luxury  ?" 

"  ^  hy>  your  lady  at  the  castle  should  give  it  to  you," 
said  Hilsborn. 

"  She  would  do  so  willingly,  I  am  sure,  but  I  could 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  so  bold  a  request ;  for,  since  the 
other  villagers  have  treated  her  so  badly,  she  has  avoided 
us  also  ;  and  I  fear  she  has  visited  us  with  some  of  the 
indignation  that  she  must  feel  at  the  shameful  insults  she 
has  received." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  ask  for  you,"  cried  Johannes.  "I 
will  go  back  to  the  castle,  and  you  shall  have  what  you 
require  in  a  few  moments." 

As  he  spoke,  Frau  Brigitta  entered,  with  a  bottle  of 
wine  and  the  soup.  Her  good  old  face  beamed  with  de- 
light at  the  opportunity  of  offering  her  hospitality  to  such 
honoured  guests.  Her  husband  seized  the  gentlemen's 
hands,  while  she  was  busied  with  laying  the  table,  and 
whispered,  "  Promise  me,  I  beg  you,  that  you  will  not 
mention  what  you  have  told  me  to  any  one,  that  my  poor 
wife  may  be  allowed  to  enjoy  all  the  hope  that  she  can 
lor  the  future." 

"  We  promise  you,*'  was  the  grave  reply. 

"  May  1  be  permitted  to  offer  the  gentlemen  some  slight 
16* 


.86  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

refreshment  ?"  asked  Brigitta  with  old-fashioned  formal- 
ity ;  for  etiquette  in  the  country  is  like  the  fashion  of 
dress,  which  follows  at  a  long  distance  the  fashion  of  the 
city, — so  that  a  form  of  polite  expression  is  used  in  the 
country  long  after  it  has  ceased  to  be  bon  genre  in  town. 
And  yet  there  is  something  touching  in  all  those  old- 
time  phrases  and  customs  that  we  remember  as  used  by 
our  grandparents  and  great-aunts  and  uncles.  They 
suggest  so  vividly  the  images  of  the  departed,  and  bring 
back  the  memories  of  childhood.  Who  has  not  in  early 
childhood  seen  some  old  aunt  or  grandmother,  upon  re- 
fusing a  fifth  cup  of  coffee,  turn  the  cup  upside  down  in 
the  saucer  and  lay  the  spoon  carefully  upon  it?  And 
when,  twenty  or  thirty  years  after,  we  see  some  country 
pastor's  or  schoolmaster's  wife  go  through  the  same  cere- 
mony, does  not  the  dear  old  form,  long  ago  laid  at  rest 
in  the  grave,  rise  before  us  to  check  the  smile  upon  our 
lips  ?  Who  cannot  remember  as  a  child  the  friendly  sym- 
pathy that  greeted  a  satisfactory  sneeze  ?  And  when,  a 
quarter  of  a  century  later,  some  kindly  country  soul  hails 
such  an  occurrence  with  a  cordial  "  God  bless  you  !"  does 
it  not  seem  as  if  we  must  reply  as  formerly,  "  Thanks, 
dear  grandmamma,"  and  are  we  not  homesick  for  a 
moment  for  our  good  old  grandmother?  Such  was  the 
impression  made  upon  the  young  men  by  the  kindly 
formality,  the  officious  hospitality,  of  the  schoolmaster's 
good  old  wife. 

"  I  pray  you  honour  us  by  tasting  our  poor  meal,"  she 
said,  as  she  put  a  coarse  thick  napkin  of  her  own  spinning 
upon  each  plate. 

After  the  conversation  that  they  had  just  had  with  the 
unfortunate  husband,  the  two  young  men  had  little  appe- 
tite for  eating  or  drinking ;  but  they  would  not  refuse 
the  old  woman's  kindly  hospitality,  and  therefore  seated 
themselves  at  the  clumsy  table.  For  one  moment  there 
was  a  silence  so  profound  that  the  tick  of  the  death-watch 
in  the  bench  by  the  stove  could  be  plainly  heard.  Then 
the  schoolmaster  poured  out  the  wine.  His  hand  trem- 
bled slightly,  and  he  was  obliged  to  take  care  lest  any 
of  it  should  be  spilled  ;  for  he  could  not  see  well  when  ' 
the  glasses  were  full.  Then,  holding  up  his  own  glass, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  187 

he  said  cheerily,  "Long  life  to  you,  gentlemen,  and  to 
our  noble  German  science!  I  drink  to  you." 

They  clinked  tbeir  glasses ;  but  it  cut  Hilsborn  to 
the  very  soul  to  think  that  the  science  which  their  good 
o\d  host  was  -so  lauding  should  have  been  so  cruel  a 
prophet  to  him  a  lew  minutes  before.  Johannes,  too, 
looked  down  at  the  wineglass  in  his  hand,  and  the  drops 
thi'.t  he  tasted  from  ir  were  bitter  to  swallow. 

''•Come,  good  wife,  clink  your  glass  with  mine,"  said 
the  old  man  to  Frau  Brigitta.  "My  wife  is  very  fond 
of  a  little  drop  of  wino,"  he  said  to  his  guests  ;  "  but  we 
never  indulge  in  it  except  when  we  have  such  honoured 
guests  as  sit  around  our  table  to-day." 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Hilsborn. 

"  Bocause  it  tastes  so  much  better  when  there  are  others 
here  to  enjoy  it  with  us,"  was  the  simple,  smiling  answer. 

"But  you  ought  to  take  more  of  it,"  said  Johannes. 
"  This  good  old  wine  is  excellent  for  you  ;  it  is  a  tonic." 

The  eld  man  looked  sadly  at  the  few  drops  which  he 
had  poured  out  for  himself,  and  with  which  he  had  only 
moistened  his  lips.  "  You  forget  that  I  have  been  for 
a  long  time  forbidden  to  take  wine,  on  account  of  my 
eyes." 

"My  poor  husband!"  said  his  wife,  sadly  stroking  hi? 
hollow  cheeks.  "  He  has  to  deny  himself  so  much.'' 

Johannes  and  Hilsborn  exchanged  glances,  and  then 
the  latter  said,  "  I  reverse  that  prohibition,  Herr  Leon- 
hardt.  Take  a  good  glass  of  wine  whenever  you  feel 
inclined.  It  cannot  harm  your  eyes  as  much  as  it  will 
improve  your  general  health." 

"  Thank  God !"  cried  his  wife  rejoiced.  "  That  proves 
how  much  better  you  are." 

"  Or  how  much  worse,"  Leonhwdt  said  in  Latin  to 
Hilsborn,  with  a  grave  look.  Then,  turning  tenderly  to 
his  wife,  he  slowly  emptied  his  glasi,  whispering  to  her, 
"  Long  live  our-  Walter  !" 

The  old  worn;  u  nodded  delighted!)  .  "  Our  good  boy! 
if  he  only  had  his  degree!" 

Leonhardt  clasped  his  hands  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  That 
is  all  that  I  ask  of  God." 

"Are  you  speaking  of  your  son?"  cried  the  gentlemen. 


188  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Then  let  us  join  you.  May  he  live  to  be  the  delight 
and  prop  of  your  old  age  !" 

"  He  is  a  very  talented  young  man,"  added  Johannes. 
"  His  essay  was  declared  the  best  after  Fraulein  von. 
Hartvvich's.'' 

"  Indeed  !"  said  the  schoolmaster.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear 
it.  Ah,  the  Friiulein  is  fortunate.  She  has  everything 
necessary  for  her  studies, — books  and  apparatus.  There 
is  hardly  such  another  private  laboratory  and  library  in 
the  country." 

Johannes  looked  surprised.  "Indeed!  how  do  you 
know  that  ?" 

"My  son  has,  during  his  studies,  also  perfected  him- 
self as  a  mechanic,  for  he  says  it  is  a  great  advantage 
for  a  naturalist,  and  Fraulein  von  Hartwich,  hearing  of  it 
accidentally,  intrusted  him  with  some  repairs  of  her 
furniture,  and  then  he  saw  what  treasures  she  possessed." 

Johannes  looked  thoughtful.  "  Hm  !  as  far  as  1  know, 
Fraulein  von  Hartwich 's  income  is  by  no  means  so  large  as 
to  allow  of  .such  extravagant  expenditure.  Her  uncle  may 
have  permitted  his  ward  to  encroach  upon  her  capital ;  it 
would  only  be  a  fresh  proof  of  his  want  of  principle." 

After  a  short  pause,  he  turned  to  the  schoolmaster. — 
"  Herr  Leonhardt,  answer  me  one  question.  If  a  man 
wishes  to  rid  a  country  of  a  dangerous  wild  animal,  is  it 
best  to  track  him  to  his  den  by  cunning,  that  he  may  be 
safely  overcome  there,  or  to  startle  him  with  loud  noise 
and  frighten  him  off,  so  that  he  cither  escapes  or  has  time 
to  prepare  to  defend  himself?" 

The  schoolmaster  looked  puzzled.  "Why,  a  prudent 
man  would  surely  pursue  the  lirst  course." 

"  I  think  so  too.  Well,  Herr  Leonhardt,  I  mean  to 
track  Doctor  Leuthold  Gleissert  to  his  hiding-place.  I 
am  persuaded  that  this  man  is  a  thorough  scoundrel,  but 
I  can  bring  no  proof  that  I  judge  him  correctly.  Until  I 
have  collected  such  proof,  which  can  only  be  done  quietly 
and  with  caution,  I  cannot  proceed  against  him  openly. 
I  need  your  assistance,  Herr  Leonhardt,  for  you  know 
more  than  all  of  us  concerning  this  man  and  his  proceed- 
ings. Give  me,  if  you  can,  some  tangible  cause  for 
accusing  him,  that  I  may  succeed  in  delivering  that  rare 
creature,  his  niece,  from  his  clutches." 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  189 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  said  Leonhardt.  "But  he  lives 
so  retired  that  1  shall  hardly  be  able  to  procure  any  im- 
portant information  for  you.  The  only  thing-  that  I  can 
observe  is  the  names  of  his  correspondents;  for,  as  there 
is  no  post-office  in  the  village,  I  have  a  post-drawer  in 
my  house,  which  the  post-boy  empties  in  my  room.  So 
that  I  can  easily  learn  to  whom  all  Doctor  Gleissert's 
letters  are  addressed.  Perhaps  that  may  be  of  use  to 
you." 

"Do  so,"  replied  Johannes,  "you  will  greatly  oblige 
me."  He  emptied  his  glass  and  arose.  "And  now  let 
me  have  pen  and  ink,  and  I  will  write  a  couple  of  lines 
to  the  lady  at  the  castle." 

The  schoolmaster  opened  a  little,  old-fashioned  desk, 
and  produced  the  necessary  articles.  Johannes  wrote: 

"  MY  DEAR  FRAULEIN  HARTWICH: — Will  it  offend  you 
if  I  offer  you  the  opportunity  of  exerting  yourself  within 
the  sphere  which  I  believe  is  assigned  to  woman  ? — I,  who 
provoked  your  displeasure  this  morning  by  remonstrating 
against  any  exertion  outside  of  that  sphere.  A  tragedy 
is  about  to  be  enacted  in  the  peaceful  cottage  of  the 
schoolmaster  Leonhardt,  and  the  physical  and  spiritual 
aid  of  a  woman  like  yourself  will  be  most  welcome  there. 
Come  see  these  people  for  yourself;  they  are  the  worthiest 
of  your  kindness  of  any  in  the  village,  and  you  have  seen 
the  least  of  them.  Say  nothing  to  Frau  Leonhardt  of  the 
hint  I  have  given  you  above.  The  poor  man  needs  linen- 
cambric  rags  for  his  eyes,  and  would  not  trouble  you  by  ask- 
ing you  for  them.  This  will  furnish  you  a  pretext  for  estal> 
lishing  relations  with  these  people — if  you  will;  and  I 
am  sure  you  will.  I  know  that  I  shall  hear  of  your  kind- 
ness when  I  return;  and  I  shall  return  again, and  again. 
"  Your  friend  of  a  few  hours,  but  for  life." 

Johannes  sealed  the  letter,  and  gave  it  to  the  school- 
master. "  Here,  Herr  Leonhardt,  is  the  request  for  the 
linen-cambric.  Send  it  to  Fraulein  Hartwich  ;  and  if  she 
should  happen  to  visit  you  herself,  I  pray  you  and  your 
wife  not  to  mention  my  name.  I  desire  the  Fraulein  to 
remain  in  ignorance  of  it  for  a  short  time.  Promise  me." 


190  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

The  worthy  old  couple  gave  the  required  promise,  and, 
bidding  a  kindly  farewell,  the  gentlemen  entered  the  car- 
riage. Johannes  took  the  reins,  and  the  impatient  horse 
bore  them  swiftly  back  to  town. 

The  schoolmaster  and  his  wife  returned  to  the  house 
and  finished  their  dinner,  for  it  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock, 
at  which  hour  the  afternoon  school  in  the  village  reas- 
sembled. They  dispatched  the  note  to  Ernestine,  and 
then  the  schoolmaster  betook  himself  to  the  school-room 
to  wait  for  his  pupils.  At  the  stroke  of  twelve  there  was 
a  trampling  of  little  feet  in  the  ball,  and  finger  after  finger 
rapped  at  the  door,  and  awaited  the  gentle  "  Come  in  !" 
without  which  no  entrance  was  allowed,  for  the  school- 
master was  a  great  stickler  for  order  and  decorum,  and 
knew  well  how  to  retain  the  respect  of  his  scholars.  Most 
of  the  children  were  better  in  school  than  anywhere  else. 
It  was  strange.  Herr  Leonhardt  never  struck  a  blow ;  he 
was  rarely  angry  ;  he  only  reproved  gently;  and  yet  the 
most  unruly  boy,  the  most  sullen  girl,  was  controlled  by 
his  glance.  The  wise  old  man  believed  that  love  for  the 
teacher  was  a  better  spur  to  improvement  than  fear, 
which  could  only  call  forth  hatred  and  malice  towards  its 
object.  And  thus  he  smoothed  away  many  a  foolish, 
rude,  and  cruel  trait  from  the  peasant  youth  of  his  village, 
bringing  out  the  good  in  the  minds  of  those  intrusted  to 
his  care,  and  suppressing  the  evil,  so  that,  during  the 
thirty-five  years  of  his  gentle  sway  in  the  school-room, 
the  Hochstetten  boys  and  girls  were  more  in  request  for 
servants  than  any  others  in  all  the  country  round. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Herr  Leonhardt!"  cried  the  entering 
throng,  scattering  themselves  among  the  long  benches 
with  a  sound  like  gravel  poured  out  upon  a  path. 

"  St — st!"  was  heard  from  the  master,  and  Instantly 
all  was  quiet  in  the  room,  except  for  the  rustling  of  the 
opening  copy-books,  and  the  lesson  began. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  soft,  low  knock  at  the  door, — 
such  a  knock  as  comes  only  from  a  guilty  conscience, — 
and  a  little,  cleanly-dressed  girl,  about  six  years  old,  stood 
upon  the  threshold  with  downcast  eyes.  She  held  out 
before  her,  as  if  trying  to  hide  behind  it,  a  satchel  so 
large  that  it  really  seemed  difficult  to  decide  whether  the 


OR  A    PHYSIC  [AN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  191 

child  had  brought  it,  or  it  had  brought  the  child  ;  and  the 
pearly  drops  upon  her  brow  showed  how  fast  she  had 
been  running. 

"Why,  Kathchen  !"  cried  Herr  Leonhardt,  "  Avby  do 
you  come  so  late?  Come  here  to  me,  little  culprit.  It 
is  the  first  time  in  the  whole  long  year  since  you  first 
came  to  school  that  you  have  been  late.  Something  very 
unusual  must  have  happened?" 

Little  Kathehen  slowly  approached  him,  while  her 
chubby  face  grew  scarlet.  "  I — I  had  to  pick  berries,"  she 
faltered,  biting  her  berry-stained  lips. 

"  Oh,  Kiithchen, "  said'  Herr  Leonhardt,  raising  his  fore- 
finger, "that  is  very  strange.  You  had  to !  Who  told 
you  to  ?" 

Kathchen  still  looked  down,  and  her  face  grew,  if  pos- 
sible, redder  still. 

"  Look  me  in  the  face,  my  child,"  said  the  master 
gravely.  "  Are  you  telling  the  truth  ?" 

Kathchen  tried  to  raise  her  brown,  roguish  eyes  to  his 
face,  but,  ah,  the  consciousness  of  guilt  weighed  down  her 
eyelids  like  lead.  She  could  not  look  at  her  teacher  ;  she 
only  shook  her  curly  head. 

"Kathchen,"  said  the  master  kindly,  "you  were  not 
sent  to  pick  berries,  for  I  know  how  desirous  your  father 
and  mother  are  to  send  you  to  school — you  ran  into  the 
wood  to  pick  and  eat  them  yourself.  Perhaps  this  is  your 
first  falsehood,  as  it  is  the  first  time  you  have  been  late 
at  school.  Pray  God  that  it  may  be  your  last." 

"Oh, "the  little  culprit  broke  forth,  "the  neighbour's 
Fritz  took  me  with  him,  and  the  berries  tasted  so  good 
that  I  stayed  too  long." 

The  other  children  laughed  ;  but  a  motion  of  the  master's 
hand  restored  silence,  and  he  continued  to  Kathchen  : 
"  Now,  my  child,  for  your  tardiness  you  will  have  a  black 
mark,  and  go  down  one  in  your  class;  but,  Kathchen, 
for  the  falsehood  you  will  lose  your  place  in  my  heart, 
%nd  I  cannot  love  you  so  much.  But  I  will  forgive  you 
if  you  will  go  stand  in  the  corner  of  your  own  accord. 
Which  will  you  do  ? — lose  your  place  in  my  heart,  or  go 
stand  in  the  corner  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour?" 

The  child  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and,  sobbing  out. 


192  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"I'd  rather,  a  great  deal  rather,  go  stand  in  the  corner  !" 
walked  there  instantly,  and  turned  her  dear  little  face  to 
the  wall. 

The  schoolmaster  looked  after  her  pityingly;  but 
nevertheless  he  was  firm,  for  he  always  imposed  the 
severest  penalty  for  a  falsehood.  The  lessons  were  con- 
tinued, and  in  about  ten  minutes  he  called  the  still  sob- 
bing Kiitbchen  from  her  corner.  The  child  came  running 
to  him,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  to  her,  saying,  "Will 
you  promise  me,  Kiithchen,  never  again  to  say  what  is 
not  true  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  will  never,  never  do  it  again,"  was  the 
contrite  answer. 

Then  the  old  man  took  up  the  rosy  little  thing  and  set 
her  on  his  knee.  "  Then,  my  dear  child,  I  will  love  you 
clearly  as  long  as  you  are  honest  and  industrious.  And 
if  you  are  ever  tempted  to  tell  what  is  not  true,  think 
how  it  would  grieve  your  old  teacher  if  he  knew  it,  and 
tell  the  truth  for  his  sake." 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  the  child,  her  little  heart  overflowing 
with  repentance,  and,  throwing  her  arms  around  the 
master's  neck,  she  hugged  him  with  all  her  might. 

The  other  children  had  watched  the  ceremony  of  recon- 
ciliation with  intense  sympathy,  for  they  were  all  fond  of 
brown-eyed,  rosy-cheeked  Kiithchen,  and  were  rejoiced 
that  her  troubles  were  over. 

"  Now,"  said  the  teacher,  when  Kiithchen  was  at  last 
seated  in  her  place,  "  now  let  us  see  whether  you  have 
done  your  task  well." 

Kiithchen  pulled  out  her  books  from  the  dark  depths 
of  her  huge  satchel ;  but,  alas  !  the  light  of  day  revealed 
upon  them  many  a  stain  from  the  berries  which  had  been 
put  into  the  bag.  The  child's  dismay  and  her  com- 
panions' amusement  were  infinite.  Even  the  schoolmaster 
could  not  refrain  from  smiling  as  he  looked  at  her  terri- 
fied little  face.  "Never  mind,"  he  said,  "you  have  suf- 
fered enough.  Let  us  see  how  they  look  inside."  lie 
opened  the  copy-book,  and  was  evidently  pleased  with  the 
neat  copy.  But  the  sums  were  in  dire  confusion. 

"Kiithchen,"  cried  Herr  Leonhardt,  "if  a  horse  has 
four  legs,  how  many  legs  have  two  horses?" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  193 

"  Six !"  was  the  confident  answer. 

"Kathchen,  how  many  are  twice  two  ?" 

"Eight!" 

Herr  Leonhardt  cast  to  heaven  that  resigned  glance 
peculiar  only  to  such  patient  martyrs.  "  Kathchen,  how 
many  fingers,  not  counting  the  thumb,  are  there  on  your 
left  hand"?" 

Kathchen  counted  with  her  right  hand  the  fingers  of 
her  left,  and  triumphantly  declared,  "  Four." 

"And  how  many  on  your  right  hand  ?" 

Again  the  same  process  was  repeated  with  the  right 
hand,  and  the  same  answer  ensued. 

"  That's  right !     Now,  how  many  are  there  together?" 

No  answer. 

"  How  many  fingers  have  you  on  botto  hands  ?" 

"Ten!" 

"  Without  the  thumbs,  child, — without  either  of  the 
thumbs." 

Kiithchen  began  her  arduous  task  anew. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Another  child  late  ?"  said  Herr  Leonhardt,  and  cried, 
" Come  in." 

But,  instead  of  the  rosy  face  of  a  child,  a  pale  counte- 
nance, with  large,  dark  eyes,  appeared,  and  gazed  almost 
shyly  around  the  circle.  This  apparition  produced  a  per- 
fect panic.  "  Oh,  heavens  !  the  Hartwich  !  Mercy ! 
mercy !  the  woman  of  the  castle  !"  and  similar  exclama- 
tions of  alarm,  were  heard  from  all  sides.  The  children 
started  up, — those  who  were  nearest  the  door  crowded 
away  from  it,  the  larger  ones  dragged  the  little  ones  close 
to  their  sides,  the  Catholics  even  crossed  themselves. 
An  actual  uproar  began,  which  even  the  teacher's  voice 
failed  at  first  to  control. 

Ernestine  observed  it  all  without  any  change  in  her 
regular  features.  Leonhardt  approached  her  respectfully, 
and  would  have  asked  her  pardon  for  the  children's  folly, 
but  she  interrupted  him. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  she  said  softly,  "it  is  I  who  should 
ask  pardon  for  interrupting  your  school  by  my  dreaded 
appearance.  I  meant  to  go  to  your  dwelling-room,  to 
take  you  the  linen-cambric  handkerchiefs  that  you  need, 

IT 


194  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

but,  not  knowing  where  it  was,  I  knocked  here  by  mis- 
take. Have  the  kindness,  Herr  Leonhardt,  to  relieve  me 
of  this  parcel,  and  I  will  relieve  your  pupils  from  their 
alarm." 

The  old  man  held  out  his  hand  to  her,  but  she  did  not 
take  it.  "  Never  mind  that ;  such  a  civility  shown  to  me 
might  deprive  you  of  the  children's  respect." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Fraulein  Hartwich,"  Leonhardt  warmly 
entreated,  "  do  not  ascribe  this  folly  to  me,  to  whom  it 
gives,  of  course,  much  more  pain  than  it  can  to  you, 
whose  position  is  too  exalted  to  allow  you  to  heed  such 
trifles ;  but  to  me  it  brings  the  bitter  conviction  that  the 
labor  of  a  lifetime  has  been  in  vain  1"  He  ceased,  and 
cast  a  sad,  weary  glance  at  the  little  flock  crowded  so 
closely  together. 

At  his  words  the  cold  look  in  Ernestine's  eyes  vanished, 
and,  for  the  first  time,  she  regarded  attentively  the  old 
man,  who  stood  so  respectfully,  and  yet  so  dignified,  be- 
fore her.  His  inflamed  eyes  revealed  to  her  instantly  the 
nature  of  the  tragedy  alluded  to  by  her  unknown  friend, 
and  she  was  filled  with  sympathy. 

"  We  will  talk  together  by-and-by,  Herr  Leonhardt," 
she  whispered,  so  that  the  children  should  not  hear  what 
she  said.  "  Now  let  me  go." 

"  Will  you  have  the  great  kindness,  Fraulein  Hartwich, 
to  go  and  see  my  wife  for  awhile?"  said  Leonhardt.  "It 
would  give  her  such  pleasure, — she  is  in  the  opposite 
room." 

"Most  certainly  I  will.     I  will  wait  for  you  there." 

She  turned  to  go;  but  Leonhardt,  seeing  that  the  chil- 
dren were  now  more  quiet,  and  hoping  to  show  her  that 
their  folly  was  not  as  great  as  it  had  seemed,  cried  to  the 
foremost  ones  of  the  throng,  "  You  have  behaved  fool- 
ishly and  naughtily  before  Fraulein  Hartwich.  Come, 
show  her  that  you  can  be  better,  and  bid  her  good-by, 
like  good  children." 

The  children  stood  motionless.  The  old  man,  dis- 
tressed at  their  conduct,  looked  around  the  room,  and 
said,  "  Will  none  of  you  shake  hands  with  her  for  my 
sake?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Kathchen's  clear,  childish  voice ;  and  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  195 

fearless  little  girl,  who  had  only  followed  the  example  of 
the  others,  walked  up  to  Fraulein  von  Hartwich,  and 
offered  her  chubby  little  hand  to  be  shaken,  and  her 
berry-stained  lips  to  be  kissed.  Ernestine  stooped  and 
kissed  the  little,  pouting  lips,  and  looked  kindly  into  the 
pretty  child's  frank,  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Now  see,  all  you  larger  children,"  said  the  school- 
master, "a  little  child,  only  six  years  old,  shames  you  all ! 
What  are  you  afraid  of?  You  see  Fraulein  von  Hart- 
wich every  day  !" 

"  Yes,  but  not  in  a  room — out  in  the  road  ;  we  can 
run  away  then,"  one  of  the  older  ones  shrewdly  declared. 

Ernestine  smiled  sadly,  and  left  the  school-room  with- 
out another  word. 

The  schoolmaster  looked  around  upon  his  pupils  with 
an  indignant  glance.  "  You  have  to-day  disgraced  your- 
selves and  me,  and  I  see  plainly  that  everything  that  I 
have  said  to  you  and  to  your  parents  upon  this  point  has 
been  of  no  avail.  I  will  give  up  trying  to  contend  with 
your  superstition  and  hate, — I  am  too  old  and  weak  for 
such  a  contest.  Only  let  me  say  to  you  once  more, 
'Judge  not,  that  you  be  not  judged.'  And  tell  your 
parents  that  if  the  time  ever  comes  when  I  shall  have  to 
leave  you,  what  has  occurred  to-day  will  go  far  to  pre- 
vent me  from  regretting  my  departure." 

The  children  sat  dismayed  and  silent,  for  they  had 
never  known  their  teacher  to  be  so  much  displeased. 
They  bowed  their  heads  low  over  their  books  and  slates, 
and  hardly  ventured  to  breathe,  still  less  to  utter  a  word 
of  excuse.  The  lessons  were  gone  through  with  even 
more  quiet  than  usual,  and  when  two  o'clock  struck, 
the  children  left  the  house  and  crept  away  as  sad  and 
depressed  as  if  they  were  following  a  funeral.  But 
scarcely  were  they  escaped  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
school-house  than  they  recovered  themselves,  and  fell 
upon  poor  Kathchen.  "  Fie !  Kathchen,  you  let  the 
Hartwich  kiss  you  !  Nobody  cares  for  you  now !" 

"Yes,  yes,  Kathchen 's  mouth  is  black,  because  the 
Hartwich  kissed  it." 

"  Oho,  Kathchen,  no  one  will  ever  give  you  a  kiss 
again!" 


196  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

11  Only  wait,  and  see  how  the  Hartwich  has  bewitched 
you  !  To-morrow  you  will  know  !" 

Poor  little  Kathchen  was  overwhelmed  with  speeches 
and  reproaches  of  this  kind.  But  they  troubled  her  very 
little,  for  her  teacher  was  pleased  with  her,  and  that  was 
better  than  all  else  besides ;  and  she  was  proud  that  she 
had  dared  to  go  forward  when  all  the  rest  were  afraid. 

"  If  you  are  so  unkind,  I  will  not  give  you  any  of  my 
berries,"  she  said,  swinging  her  huge  satchel  carelessly 
to  and  fro.  This  trump-card  did  not  fail  of  its  effect,  for 
the  berries  were  not  bewitched, — at  all  events,  the  Hart- 
wich had  not  touched  them  ;  so  the  little  girl  soon  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  children  all  gather  around 
her  once  more. 

When  Leonhardt  went  to  his  wife,  he  found  her  deep 
in  friendly  talk  with  Ernestine. 

"My  dear,  kind  Friiulein  Hartwich,"  he  began,  "how 
it  grieves  me  that  you,  who  came  to  do  me  a  kindness, 
should  have  been  so  insulted  in  my  house !  To  be  sure, 
they  are  only  children,  and  they  could  not  really  insult 
you,  but " 

"  '  As  the  parents  are,  so  must  the  children  be,'  is  what 
you  would  say,"  Ernestine  interposed,  "or what,  at  least, 
you  think.  Do  not  be  distressed,  Herr  Leouhardt.  I 
am  used  to  insult  and  ridicule,  and  I  have  grown  callous 
to  them.  But  it  is  strange  that  a  similar  occurrence  took 
place  ten  years  ago  to-day,  at  the  first  and  only  children's 
party  which  I  ever  attended.  My  misanthropy  dates 
from  that  day ;  and  the  fresh  proof  that  I  have  just  bad 
convinces  me  that  I  am  not  fitted  to  mix  with  the  world, — 
least  of  all,  with  what  passes  for  such  in  this  country. 
Tell  me,  Herr  Leonhardt,  is  it  entirely  impossible  for  you 
to  enlighten  these  people  in  some  small  degree?" 

"  To  speak  frankly,  I  believe  I  could  have  done  so  had 
not  my  influence  always  been  counteracted  by  their  priests 
and  pastors.  As  a  teacher,  subordinate  always  to  a  priest 
or  pastor,  I  could  effect  nothing  against  the  superstition, 
the  religious  intolerance,  instilled  into  the  peasants  by 
their  spiritual  guides  ;  for  with  peasants  the  authority  is 
always  the  greatest  that  does  not  attempt  to  combat  their 
errors.  A  quack  who  makes  use  only  of  old  women's 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  ]9f 

remedies  will  always  inspire  them  with  more  confidence 
than  a  regular  physician  whose  prescriptions  gainsay  all 
their  medical  and  dietetic  prejudices.  A  pastor  who  from 
a  religious  point  of  view  justifies  and  encourages  their  su- 
perstition and  ignorance  will  be  regarded  by  them  as  a 
far  worthier  and  more  trustworthy  guide  than  one  who 
teaches  only  the  pure  truth  of  God.  So,  you  see,  I  have 
always  contended  with  unequal  weapons,  and  have  fre- 
quently been  in  danger  of  falling  a  victim  to  their  malice 
and  thus  losing  my  place.  In  quiet  times,  when  nothing 
occurred  to  show  plainly  the  difference  between  us,  all 
went  pretty  well ;  but  since  your  arrival,  Fraulein  von  Hart- 
wich,  the  old  quarrel  has  been  renewed,  and  I  see  again 
how  powerless  I  am." 

"  Then  I  am  come  only  to  sow  discord  in  this  peaceful 
spot,"  Ernestine  said  in  a  thoughtful  tone.  "  Yes,  yes, — 
misfortune  attends  me  wherever  I  go." 

"  Oh,  do  not  say  that !"  cried  Frau  Brigitta,  seizing 
Ernestine's  hand,  "  but  it  seems  to  rue — forgive  a  simple 
old  woman  for  speaking  so  plainly  to  you — it  seems  to 
me  that  a  lady  so  beautiful  and  richly  endowed  as  you 
are,  ought  not  to  live  here  so  lonely  and  secluded.  My 
husband  and  I  often  say,  '  What  a  pity  it  is  that  such 
a  splendid  creature  should  bury  herself  alive !'  It  cer- 
tainly is  unnatural ;  and  what  is  natural  is  sure  to  be 
best !" 

Ernestine  was  silent,  and  sat  with  eyes  cast  down. 

"  I  too  must  say,"  said  Leonhardt  timidly,  "  that  you 
are  not  in  your  right  place  here.  Did  you  ever  see  the 
statue  of  a  renowned  philosopher  or  artist  set  up  in  the 
midst  of  a  village  ?  Certainly  not ;  for  the  village  boys 
would  pelt  it  with  mud, — no  one  would  understand  its 
value, — it  would  be  merely  a  doll,  at  which  every  one 
would  laugh,  and  to  deface  which  would  be  considered  a 
very  good  joke.  And  will  you,  Fraulein  Hartwich,  in 
the  bloom  of  life,  with  all  your  refinement  of  mind,  vol- 
untarily expose  yourself  to  the  same  fate  that  would 
await  such  a  statue  were  it  erected  here,  for  the  purpose 
of  inspiring  this  rude  people  with  ennobling  ideas? 
Surely  you  cannot  answer  to  yourself  for  such  a  course 
of  life  !" 

17* 


198  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Ernestine  gazed  attentively  at  the  old  man's  faded  but 
still  noble  countenance.  His  address  was  so  different  from 
what  she  had  expected  from  a  simple  village  schoolmaster, 
that  she  was  greatly  astonished  at  it.  It  stimulated  her 
to  reply  to  him. 

"  I  understand  your  comparison,  Herr  Leonhardt,  and 
am  greatly  honoured  by  it,  but, — forgive  me  for  saying 
so, — it  does  not  seem  to  me  quite  correct.  I  know  of 
no  village  where  statues  either  of  Christ  or  the  Madonna 
are  not  erected,  and  the  rudest  peasant  pays  them  rever- 
ence,— because  he  appreciates  the  idea  that  they  embody. 
Could  we  only  breathe  a  sympathy  with  other  than  reli- 
gious ideas  into  the  minds  of  this  neglected  class,  the 
representatives  of  such  ideas  would  also  receive  the  same 
reverence." 

Frau  Leonhardt  was  a  little  troubled  by  the  turn  the 
conversation  had  taken ;  for,  as  a  faithful  servant  will 
listen  to  no  slighting  remarks  concerning  those  whom  he 
serves,  she,  as  a  true  servant  of  her  Lord  and  Saviour,  dis- 
approved of  Fraulein  von  Hartwich's  mode  of  speaking  of 
Him,  and  thought  it  scarcely  becoming  in  a  good  Chris- 
tian to  listen  to  such  talk.  But  her  husband,  with  modest 
tact,  put  an  end  to  her  anxiety.  "  I  have  myself,"  said 
he,  "  thought  of  what  you  say,  but  it  seems  to  me  to  be 
an  entirely  different  matter.  The  people  honour  in  these 
statues  not  ideas,  but  persons, — and  the  holiest  and  high- 
est persons  that  they  can  conceive  of, — the  persons  of 
their  God  and  his  saints.  As  we  take  delight  in  the 
pictures  of  distant  relatives,  whom  we  may  never  have 
seen,  perhaps,  but  whom  we  honour  and  cherish  for  the 
sake  of  what  we  know  of  them,  so,  a  thousand  times  more 
so,  do  the  people  honour  what  speaks  to  them  of  the  eter- 
nally invisible  Father  of  all !  This  sentiment,  Fraulein  von 
Hartwich,  seems  to  me  widely  different  from  the  admira- 
tion that  a  comprehension  of  the  great  ideas  of  to-day 
might  awaken  in  the  minds  of  the  people.  We  are  not 
yet  far  enough  advanced  to  say  how  it  may  be, — and  who 
knows  whether  we  ever  shall  advance  so  far  as  to  be 
able  to  elevate  those  classes  who  labour  for  us  that  we 
may  think  for  them,  and  who  desire  nothing  at  present 
for  their  happiness  but  their  plough  and  their  God  ? 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  199 

What  they  really  need  now,  in  my  opinion,  is  that  their 
God  should  not  be  represented  to  them  as  an  angry, 
avenging  Jehovah,  but  as  the  loving,  redeeming  God 
of  Christianity !  To  return  to  my  simile, — with  re- 
gard to  yourself,  Fraulein  von  Hartwich,  let  me  repeat 
that  you  can  only  be  in  your  true  place  where  your 
efforts  and  ideas  are  understood  and  you  can  grace  a  ped- 
estal that  becomes  you.  Then  you  will  be  truly  happy, 
and  far  more  easily  brought  into  communion  with  your 
Creator  than  while  you  are  embittered  by  the  religious 
error  and  intolerance  prevailing  around  you  here.  The 
people  are  hostile  to  you,  because  they  believe  you  hostile 
to  what  they  hold  most  sacred, — their  religion.  Whoever, 
in  their  eyes,  stands  aloof  from  Christian  fellowship,  stands 
aloof  from  mankind, — ceases  to  be  a  creature  of  flesh  and 
blood.  And  if  they  do  not  see  condign  punishment 
quickly  overtake  such  a  one,  whom  they  regard  as  the 
chief  of  sinners,  they  believe  that  she  must  be  under  the 
protection  not  of  God,  but  of  the  other  p'ower  in  their 
theology, — the  devil !  Forgive  my  frankness.  I  say 
nothing  of  their  childish  misconception  of  God's  tender 
long-suffering.  I  only  feel  it  my  duty  to  show  you  the 
impassable  gulf  that  lies  between  you  and  your  surround- 
ings. You  are  such  a  thorn  in  the  side  not  only  of  the 
Catholic  priest,  but  also  of  the  evangelical  pastor  of  our 
diocese,  that  he  attempted  to  procure  from  the  Protest- 
ant coneistory  a  decree  of  banishment  against  you  on 
account  of  your  writings,  and,  failing  in  this,  he  has  de- 
termined to  drive  you  from  this  place,  at  all  costs,  by 
unceasing  persecution.  His  Catholic  associate  seconds 
him,  as  you  yourself  know,  most  zealously,  and  I  wish 
to  save  you,  by  timely  warning,  from  all  that,  unfortu- 
nately, still  threatens  you  here." 

He  paused,  and  endeavoured  to  observe  with  his  dim 
eyes  the  effect  of  his  words  upon  Ernestine's  impassive 
features.  Her  look  was  still  riveted  on  the  ground,  and 
she  said  nothing,  so  he  respectfully  took  her  hand,  say- 
ing, "  Dear  Fraulein  von  Hartwich,  forgive  me  if  I  am 
too  bold  and  have  wounded  you.  I  am  a  plain  man, 
ignorant  of  the  forms  of  polite  society,  grown  old  among 
peasants,  and  accustomed  to  speak  out  my  thoughts 


200  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

openly.  I  hold  truth  to  be  my  first  duty,  but  it  would 
pain  me  to  think  that,  in  fulfilling  this  duty,  I  had  unin- 
tentionally wounded  you !" 

"Dear,  dear! — yes! — oh,  yes!"  ejaculated  bis  kindly 
old  wife,  really  distressed  by  the  inscrutable  expression 
upon  Ernestine's  face. 

Suddenly  the  latter  started  up,  shook  the  old  people  by 
the  hand,  and  said  gravely  but  cordially, — 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  Herr  Leonhardt.  You  are  a 
good  man!" 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  good  Fraulein  von  Hartwich  1"  cried 
Frau  Brigitta  with  emotion. 

"  I  must  go  home  now,"  said  Ernestine,  covering  her 
black  braids  with  her  hat,  "  but  I  will  see  you  soon 
again.  Farewell !" 

When  the  old  couple  had  accompanied  her  to  the  door, 
and  .followed  her  with  their  eyes  as  she  walked  away 
apparently  lost  in  thought,  they  both  remembered  for 
the  first  time'  that  she  had  not  alluded  in  any  way  to 
Johannes. 

"  How  strange  I"  said  the  schoolmaster,  as  he  went  for 
his  garden-shears  to  trim  the  luxuriant  hedge  before  his 
house. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    GUARDIAN. 

WHEN,  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Leuthold 
returned  from  town,  he  heard  that  Ernestine  could  not 
see  him, — she  was  not  well,  and  had  retired  to  her  room. 
Slowly  and  cautiously  he  sought  her  study,  and  there 
attempted  to  find  what  and  how  much  his  ward  had 
accomplished  during  the  day.  To  his  astonishment,  he 
found  nothing.  He  slipped  into  the  laboratory,  and  there 
lay  everything  just  as  it  had  been  left  the  day  before. 
Nothing  had  been  touched.  What  did  it  mean  ?  It  was 
the  first  day  for  years  that  had  been  passed  by  Ernestine 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  201 

in  idleness.  Then,  creeping  along  the  corridors  with  the 
stealthy  step  of  a  cat,  he  sought  Frau  Willmers.  She, 
too,  was  just  about  going  to  bed,  and  looked  very  sleepy 
when  Leuthold,  fixing  a  searching  glance  upon  her,  asked, 
"What  has  Fraulein  von  Hartwich  been  doing  to-day?" 

Frau  Willmers  yawned :  she  needed  an  instant  for 
reflection.  "  Fraulein  von  Hartwich  has  been  quite  un- 
well to-day,"  she  replied. 

"  Indeed  I  what  was  the  matter  with  her  ?" 

"  Why,  just  what  is  always  the  matter,  more  or  less. 
Heart-beat,  faintness,  headache.  Is  it  any  wonder,  con- 
sidering the  way  she  is  always  at  work  ?  She  could  hardly 
hold  up  her  head  to-day " 

"  Has  any  one  been  here  ?" 

"  IS'ot  a  soul :  who  could " 

"  No  letters  ?"    . 

"  Two  for  you,  Herr  Professor,  and  one  for  Fraulein 
von  Hartwich  from  the  schoolmaster." 

"What  did  he  want?" 

"  He  asked  for  some  linen-cambric  rags  for  his  weak 
eyes.  She  took  him  some." 

"She  herself?     Why?" 

"  She  was  tired  because  she  could  not  study,  and  she 
wanted  to  see  Herr  Leonhardt's  eyes.  She  thought  she 
might  learn  something  from  them." 

"  Very  well,— that  will  do.  Good-night,  Frau  Will- 
mers." 

"  Good-night,  Herr  Professor,"  said  the  cunning  house- 
keeper, hastening  to  tell  Ernestine  how  slyly  she  had 
managed  matters  and  contrived  to  pay  due  honour  to 
truth  by  mixing  up  some  of  it  with  her  falsehoods. 

Ernestine  sat  in  an  easy-chair,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
flame  of  the  lamp.  A  book  lay  open  in  her  lap, — "Ander- 
sen's Fairy  Tales." 

She  could  not  smile  at  what  Frau  Willmers  told  her. 
There  was  something  in  it  that  filled  her  with  uneasiness. 
For  the  first  time  since  she  had  lived  with  her  uncle,  she 
felt  that  she  was  a  prisoner,  watched  and  guarded  as  such. 
She  was  obliged  to  conceal,  as  if  it  were  a  crime,  the  fact 
that  she  had  become  acquainted  with  a  true,  noble  human 
being.  She  had  to  account  on  the  plea  of  interest  in  sci- 


202  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

ence  for  visiting  a  poor  suffering  man.  The  lie  disgraced 
her,  and  the  necessity  that  had  prompted  it  was  a  galling 
chain !  All  this  she  felt  to-day  for  the  first  time.  One 
day  had  aroused  within  her  the  longing  for  independence ! 
— the  greatest  misfortune  that  could  have  befallen  her 
unsuspecting  uncle,  but  not  the  only  one  that  this  day 
was  to  bring  him. 

When  he  went  to  his  room,  he  found  there  the  letters 
of  which  Frau  Willmers  had  told  him.     The  first  that 
he  took  up  he  opened  instantly.     It  was  from  his  daugh- 
ter Gretchen,  and  ran  thus: 
"Mr  DEAREST  FATHER  : 

"In  a  week  I  shall  be  fifteen  years  old,  and  next  month 
my  course  here  will  be  finished,  and  I  shall  be  fitted  to 
take  my  place  in  the  school  as  a  teacher.  Once  more  I 
turn  to  you  and  entreat  you,  dear  father,  let  me  come 
home  to  you !  I  will  not  be  any  burden  to  you.  My 
teachers  will  tell  you  that  1  know  enough  to  enable  a 
young  girl  to  earn  her  own  living.  I  thank  and  bless 
you  a  thousand  times,  dearest  father,  for  having  me  edu- 
cated to  be  a  useful  member  of  society.  I  will  be  my 
cousin's  maid,  and  work  for  her  for  my  support,  if  I  may 
only  be  near  you !  Oh,  I  pray  you  yield  to  my  entrea- 
ties 1  You  have  always  answered  my  request  by  telling 
me  that  her  bad  example — her  irreligion  and  hardness 
of  heart — would  have  a  ruinous  effect  upon  me.  But 
indeed,  dear  father,  this  could  not  be.  Thanks  to  my 
good,  kind  teachers,  I  am  so  firm  in  my  faith,  I  have 
been  so  well  trained,  that  this  one  bad  example  could 
not  have  any  effect  upon  me,  especially  when  I  should 
daily  see  how  my  poor  father  suffers  in  discharging  his 
guardianship  of  so  stubborn  a  creature.  Why  did  my 
dead  uncle  Hartwich  bequeath  to  you  such  a  thankless 
office  ?  Indeed,  dearest  father,  it  would  be  easier  if  you 
would  let  me  help  you.  I  would  leave  nothing  untried 
to  soften  her  heart  and  turn  it  to  good,  and,  however 
angry  she  might  be  with  me,  1  would  disarm  her  by  pa- 
tience and  submission ;  and,  even  although  I  could  have 
no  effect  upon  her,  I  could  be  something  to  you,  dear 
father.  Oh,  how  heavenly  it  would  be  to  sit  alone  together 
in  your  room  after  the  day's  work  was  finished  !  1  could 


OR  A   PUYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  203 

sit  at  your  feet  and  show  you  my  sketches  and  drawings, 
drinking  draughts  from  the  rich  treasures  of  your  mind 
and  cheering  you  with  my  ever-ready  nonsense.  And 
sometimes  I  could  lean  my  head  upon  your  heart,  that 
no  one  understands  as  well  as  the  child  to  whom  you 
have  shown  all  its  depths  of  tenderness,  and  sleep  as 
peacefully  as  in  those  dear  childish  days  when  yon  cradled 
me  in  your  arms  with  all  a  mother's  care !  Oh,  father, 
you  are  everything  in  the  world  to  me !  My  mother, 
who  forsook  me  when  I  was  so  young — who  left  you  for 
another  so  immeasurably  your  inferior,  I  do  not  know — 
I  can  form  no  image  of  her,  unlovely  as  she  must  be,  in 
my  mind.  You  are  mother,  father,  everything,  to  mel 
My  cradle  stood  by  your  bedside;  your  eyes  smiled 
upon  me  when  I  awoke.  You  never  spoke  a  harsh  word 
to  me,  you  never  looked  unkindly  at  me.  You  treated 
the  wayward  child,  who  must  so  often  have  vexed  you, 
with  unvarying  gentleness  and  patience;  and  at  last  you 
sent  me  from  you,  that  I  might  be  thoroughly  trained 
and  educated,  since  it  is  our  fate  to  earn  our  daily  bread. 
You  sent  me  from  you,  but  I  saw  plainly,  when  we 
parted,  that  this  was  the  greatest  sacrifice  of  all, — that  I 
carried  away  your  whole  heart  with  me.  You  did  it  for 
me, — out  of  affection  for  me.  You  have  given  me  up  now 
for  almost  seven  years,  and  I  have  worked  and  studied 
as  hard  as  I  could,  so  that  I  might  soon  be  with  you 
again;  and  now,  when  I  have  learned  enough  to  be  able 
to  repay  you  a  very  little  for  all  that  you  have  done  and 
suffered  for  me,  you  refuse  to  let  me  fly  to  your  dear 
arms,  for  fear  of  the  miserable  influence  of  your  ward. 
Father,  you  will — you  must — hear  and  heed  me.  The 
tears  that  blotted  your  last  letter  to  me  fell  hot  into  my 
very  soul.  They  were  tears  of  longing — do  not  deny  it — 
for  your  child,  and  I  will  never  rest  until  you  give  heed 
to  your  own  heart !  Ah,  father  dear,  you  will  be  pleased 
when  you  see  me  1  I  am  taller  and  stronger  than  our 
governess!  Every  one  says  I  am  very  tall  for  my  age — 
I  might  be  taken  for  eighteen  years  old  !  When  we  go 
to  walk  together,  you  will  have  to  give  me  your  arm  I 
Ah,  what  a  delight  that  will  be !  I  shall  be  too  proud  to 
touch  the  ground!  and,  depend  upon  it,  I  shall  be  able  to 


204  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

do  something  with  Ernestine  1  She  never  used  to  be 
cross  to  rue  as  a  child;  I  cannot  think  how  she  can  have 
altered  so.  How  could  she  become  so  changed  with  such 
a  guardian?  In  spirit  I  kiss  his  dear,  kind  hands!  Happy 
girl! — to  have  my  father  for  a  teacher  1  Shall  I  not 
grudge  her  a  happiness  of  which  she  has  proved  herself 
so  unworthy  ?  Yes  ;  I  do  grudge  it  her !  I  do  not  envy 
her  for  her  talents  or  her  wealth,  but  I  do  envy  her  for 
my  father! — I  must  envy  her  for  that!  You  give  her 
your  time — your  care ;  you  devote  yourself  to  her,  and 
let  your  own  child  grow  up  far  away  from  you,  among 
strangers, — your  own  child, — who  would  give  all  that  she 
possesses  for  one  look  from  her  father's  eyes ! " 

Leuthold  could  read  no  further.  He  writhed  like  a 
worm  on  the  ground  beneath  the  weight  of  reproach 
with  which  this  artless  creature  thus  heaped  him.  The 
thunderbolt  of  a  god  could  have  inflicted  no  such  pun- 
ishment upon  him  as  the  pure,  sweet,  angelic  love  of  his 
child. 

He  sunk  upon  his  knees,  and  kissed  the  letter  again  and 
again.  "  My  child  !  my  child  !"  he  cried  aloud,  racked 
almost  to  madness  by  intense  feverish  longing.  At  this 
moment  of  weakness  he  was  overwhelmed  with  re- 
morse. He  had  banished  from  his  side  his  dearest  pos- 
session,— his  Gretchen.  And  why  ?  Because  he  loved 
her  too  dearly  to  expose  her  to  contact  with  the  ideas 
that  he  sought  to  impress  upon  the  mind  of  his  waVd, — 
because  he  would  not  allow  his  child  to  breathe  the 
poisoned  atmosphere  of  falsehood  in  which  he  chose  that 
Ernestine  should  dwell.  And  why  had  he  thus  chosen  ? 
Because  he  loved  Gretchen  too  much  to  have  her  always 
poor  and  dependent,  because  he  determined  to  win  back 
the  inheritance  that  he  had  once  thought  his  own,  but 
which  had  been  so  unexpectedly  lost  to  him,  and  because 
there  was  only  one  way,  in  his  mind,  in  which  this  could 
be  done, — by  making  the  possessor  of  this  inheritance  so 
utterly  unfit  for  the  world  that  nothing  might  wrest  her 
person  or  her  property  from  bis  grasp. 

But,  when  he  received  such  a  letter  as  the  above, 
overflowing  with  the  devoted  love,  the  pain  at  separation, 
of  his  exiled  child,  something  stirred  in  his  breast  that 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  205 

would  not  be  quieted,  demanding  whether  he  might  not 
have  expressed  his  paternal  love  in  another  way,  whether 
it  were  not  a  desecration  of  this  angel  to  attempt  to 
make  her  future  happy  by  a  crime  ?  Whether  the  joy 
of  educating  such  a  child  himself  would  not  have  out- 
weighed the  wealth  of  the  world  ?  And  then  he  began 
to  reckon  and  compare, — and  the  account  was  never 
balanced, — for  the  years  of  separation  from  his  daughter 
there  was  no  equivalent.  These  were  rare  hours  when, 
like  a  criminal  before  his  judge,  he  was  arraigned  in  spirit 
before  the  pure  eyes  of  his  child ;  but  they  cost  him 
months  of  life. 

His  hair  had  grown  grey, — his  powers  of  mind  were 
enfeebled  by  all  these  years  of  self-control  and  hypocrisy, — 
of  crime  and  dread  of  discovery.  He  had  nothing  to  hope 
for  for  himself — but  for  Gretchen?  And  what  if  he  had 
failed  in  his  reckoning  ?  What  if  a  mischievous  chance 
should  again  deprive  him  at  the  last  moment  of  the  fruit 
of  all  this  sacrifice  ?  The  path  of  sin  had  separated  him 
from  his  daughter  hitherto.  Was  it  possible  that  it  could 
ever  lead  him  to  her  ? 

His  high,  narrow  forehead  was  covered  with  a  cold  dew 
as  he  passed  his  hand  over  it.  He  was  indeed  to  be 
pitied, — a  man  who  had  not  the  courage  to  be  wholly 
good  nor  wholly  bad  I 

The  night  breeze  blew  fresh  through  the  open  window, 
and  the  miserable  man  was  thoroughly  chilled.  He  arose, 
wrapped  himself  in  his  shawl,  closed  the  window,  and 
went  to  the  table  where  lay  the  other  letter.  It  was 
directed  in  the  handwriting  of  the  overseer  of  the  Unken- 
heirn  Factory.  Leuthold  put  it  down — he  had  not  the 
courage  to  read  it.  "  What  can  he  have  to  tell  me  ?"  he 
moaned,  utterly  dispirited. 

At  last  he  roused  himself.    "  What  must  be,  must !" 

He  unfolded  the  coarse  paper  and  read — while  his  face 
grew  ashy  pale. 

"  UNRENHEIM,  July  30,  18—. 
"  HONOURED  SIR  : 

"You  should  have  believed  me  when  I  told  you  that 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  with  bringing  the  water 
from  that  miserable  spring.  Twenty  years  ago  you  placed 

18 


206  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

me  at  the  head  of  this  factory,  and  I  think  I  have  shown 
that  I  understand  my  business.  It  is  a  ruinous  thing  to 
conduct  such  a  huge  undertaking  from  a  distance.  I  told 
you  so  when  you  got  back  the  factory  again,  but  you 
never  believe  what  I  say.  If  the  business  had  been  al- 
lowed to  proceed  as  usual,  we  should  have  made  a  sure, 
although  small,  profit  from  it.  But  you  were  in  such  a 
devil  of  a  hurry  to  make  the  capital  yield  a  hundred  per 
cent.,  because  you  were  always  afraid  lest  your  ward 
should  smell  a  rat  and  require  her  own  again, — or  lest 
she  should  marry,  and  you  would  have  to  render  an  ac- 
count to  some  suspicious  husband,  who  would  be  less 
forbearing  even  than  Friiulein  Ernestine.  Therefore  these 
giant  speculations  were  set  on  foot,  and  everything  was 
to  be  accomplished  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I  told 
you  we  had  not  sufficient  sewerage  for  such  an  enormous 
enlargement.  Then  you  never  rested  until  that  expensive 
drain  was  dug,  and  we  very  soon  found  that  it  had  too 
little  incline  and  the  refuse  all  stuck  fast  in  it.  Then  you 
thought  we  could  carry  it  off  by  a  stream  of  water  turned 
into  the  drain.  More  money  was  spent,  and  again  spent 
in  vain.  The  dry  summer  had  exhausted  the  spring, — 
it  was  always  small,  and  now  it  has  entirely  disappeared. 
The  large  supply  of  raw  material,  not  yet  paid  for,  can- 
not be  worked  up,  for  the  villagers  are  beginning  to  talk 
again  of  '  poisoning  the  springs,'  and  the  drain  has  begun 
to  leak.  If  the  necessary  amount  of  water  cannot  be 
procured,  I  shall  be  prosecuted,  and  then  nothing  will 
shield  either  you  or  me  from  discovery.  The  people  al- 
ready think  it  strange  that  the  Italian  gentleman,  who 
pretended  to  buy  the  factory  by  your  advice,  has  disap- 
peared. It  is  whispered  about  that  he  is  not  the  real 
owner,  and  Heaven  only  knows  what  it  all  means.  We 
have,  therefore,  more  need  of  caution  than  ever! 

"  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  face  the  worst  and  con- 
tinue the  aqueduct  to  the  forest, — then  we  shall  be  safe. 
Digging  ditches  and  hunting  for  springs  is  of  no  use, — 
more  money  is  frittered  away  so  than  in  large  under- 
takings. I  do  not  know  what  cash  you  have  on  hand ;  if 
you  have  not  enough  to  lengthen  the  aqueduct,  in  a  few 
weeks  you  will  be  bankrupt.  It  will  not  be  my  fault! 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  207 

"  I  have  no  more  money  for  the  workmen's  wages, — and 
it  would  be  well,  now  tbat  work  must  be  suspended  for  a 
time,  to  pay  them  up.  It  might  keep  them  in  good  hu- 
mour. 1  kuow  that  you  will  vent  all  your  anger  upgn 
me  again,  but  I  tell  you  I  will  put  up  with  nothing 
more.  I  was  an  honest  man  until  you  tempted  me  and 
made  me  your  accomplice.  Still,  I  have  not  played  the 
rogue  to  you,  my  principal,  although  I  have,  m ore's  the 
pity,  made  myself  amenable  to  the  law.  You  have  gone 
on  just  like  Herr  Neuenstein,  who  became  bankrupt  too, 
because  he  would  not  listen  to  me;  but  he  was  an  hon- 
ourable man,  and  paid  up  every  penny  that  he  owed,  so 
that  he  was  not  afraid  to  look  any  one  in  the  face.  If 
you  fail,  you  drag  down  your  ward,  whose  money  you 
have  been  using,  with  you, — and  me  too, — poor  devil  that 
I  am !  There  is  truth  in  the  proverb  '  Ill-gotten  gains 
never  prosper.'  God  help  me  ! 

"  Yours,  etc., 

"  CLEMENS  PRUCKER, 

"  Overseer." 

It  was  too  much.  "My  child!  my  child!  I  have  sinned, 
forged,  embezzled,  for  your  sake,  in  vain!  Can  you  be 
sufficiently  proud  of  such  a  father  ?"  he  moaned, — his 
head  fell  back  in  his  chair,  and  he  lost  consciousness. 

The  day  had  dawned  when  he  opened  bis  eyes  ;  the 
atmosphere  was  full  of  the  disagreeable  odour  of  the 
dying  candles,  his  limbs  were  stiff  and  numb  from  his 
uneasy  posture,  and  he  was  shivering  with  cold.  When 
he  tried  to  walk,  his  hands  and  feet  were  asleep,  and  he 
staggered  like  a  drunken  man.  At  last  his  eyes  lighted 
upon  the  letters.  He  picked  them  up  and  went  to  his 
writing-table.  There  he  put  them  away  in  a  secret 
drawer,  then  drew  forth  a  safe  and  investigated  its  con- 
tents. It  contained  certificates  of  stock  and  some  rolls 
of  ready  money. 

The  sun  shoue  brightly  into  the  room,  and  still  the  pale 
man  sat  there  counting  and  calculating.  At  last  he  put 
all  the  contents  of  the  safe  into  a  leather  travelling-bag. 
Then  he  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the  servant,  who  ap- 
peared, to  have  the  carriage  brought  round  and  to  pack 


208  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

up  for  him  sufficient  clothes  to  last  during  a  journey  of 
several  days. 

When  he  heard  that  his  niece  had  arisen,  he  went  to 
her.  "  Good-niorning,  Ernestine,"  said  he.  "  How  are 
you  to-day  ?" 

"  I  should  put  that  question  to  you,  uncle,"  she  replied. 
"  You  look  as  if  you  had  just  arisen  from  the  grave  !" 

"  Oh,  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me.  I  did  not 
sleep  much.  The  overseer  at  Unkenheim  writes  to  me 
on  the  part  of  my  Italian  friend,  begging  me  to  come  as 
soon  as  possible  to  the  factory,  where  everything  is  going 
wrong.  I  think  it  my  duty  to  do  what  I  can  in  the  mat- 
ter, as  I  know  all  about  the  business,  and  unfortunately 
advised  my  friend  to  make  the  purchase." 

"  Are  you  going,  then  ?"  asked  Ernestine,  with  a  feeling 
of  secret  delight  that  she  could  not  explain  to  herself. 

"  Yes,  I  must  leave  you  for  a  few  days,  hard  as  it  is 
for  me.  But  promise  me  before  I  go  that  you  will  have 
that  treatise  that  you  are  at  work  upon  completed  by  my 
return.  Let  nothing  prevent  you  from  finishing  it.  If 
you  feel  unwell, — you  know  that  is-  of  no  real  conse- 
quence,— you  can  readily  overcome  all  your  ailments  by 
resolutely  willing  to  do  so.  Take  quinine,  if  you  must. 
Now  may  I  rely  upon  finding  the  essay  complete  when 
I  see  you  again  ?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,  I  promise  ;  and  if  I  do  not  keep  my  word, 
it  will  be  for  the  first  time  in  my  life." 

"  Farewell,  then,  my  child, — I  must  hurry  to  catch  the 
train.  Let  nothing  interrupt  you, — do  you  hear  ? — 
nothing !" 

He  hurried  out,  and  sought  the  housekeeper.  "  Frau 
Willmers,"  he  said,  "  I  rely  on  you  to  prevent  Fraulein 
von  Hartwich  from  receiving  any  visitors,  be  they  who 
they  may.  If  I  find,  upon  my  return,  that  you  have 
permitted  the  least  infringement  of  my  orders,  you  may 
consider  yourself  dismissed.  I  cannot  tell  you  when  I 
shall  return.  Conduct  yourself  so  that  you  need  not 
fear  my  arrival,  for  it  may  take  place  at  any  moment." 

"  Rely  upon  me  entirely,  Herr  Professor,"  replied  Frau 
AVillmers;  and  Leuthold  got  hastily  into  his  vehicle. 

"Now,  that  sly  master  of  mine  thinks  all  is  secure, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  209 

and  that  he  has  the  heart  of  a  girl  of  two-and-twenty  under 
lock  and  key.     How  stupid  these  clever  folks  often  are  !" 
After  this  fashion  Frau  Willmers  soliloquized,  as  her 
master  drove  ofl'. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FRUITLESS   PRETENSIONS. 

"  YOUR  new  dress-coat  has  come  from  the  tailor's,"  was 
Frau  Herbert's  greeting  to  her  husband,  upon  his  entrance. 

"  Indeed !  where  is  it  ?"  he  asked  gruffly. 

"  In  the  next  room,  on  the  bed." 

"  On  the  bed  1"  her  husband  snapped  out.  "  So  that  it 
may  be  covered  with  lint?  How  careless  !" 

Frau  Herbert  looked  down,  and  was  silent.  Herbert 
hurried  into  the  next  room  to  rescue  his  slighted  property. 

Professor  Herbert's  dwelling-room  was  rather  small 
and  low,  but  there  appeared,  at  a  cursory  glance,  an  air 
of  elegance  about  it.  The  chairs  and  lounges  were  cov- 
ered with  fine  woollen  stuff,  the  curtains  were  richly  em- 
broidered, and  an  elegant  cabinet,  with  mirrored  doors, 
closely  locked,  apparently  contained  silver  plate.  'Upon  a 
closer  inspection,  however,  the  furniture  was  found  to  be 
stuffed  with  straw,  the  curtains  were  shabby,  with  the 
holes  in  them  not  even  darned,  and  the  cabinet  contained 
only  broken  household-utensils,  with  the  remains  of  the 
previous  meal,  locked  up  there  to  be  safe  from  the  hungry 
servant-maid.  Even  the  arm-chair  by  the  window,  occu- 
pied by  Frau  Herbert,  evidently  an  invalid,  was  as  hard 
as  a  stone.  The  only  thing  in  the  room  of  real  and 
decided  value  was  a  collection  of  old  English  copper- 
plates that  decorated  the  walls  of  the  apartment,  repre- 
senting scenes  from  Shakspeare's  plays  and  Roman  his- 
tory. These  old  pictures  were  one  of  Professor  Herbert's 
fancies ;  and  he  belonged  to  that  class  of  men  with  whom 
the  necessities  of  a  wife  and  of  the  household  are  never 

18* 


210  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

considered  in  comparison  with  the  gratification  of  their 
fancies. 

Frau  Herbert  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  women 
who,  in  the  consciousness  that  they  are  burdens  to  their 
husbands,  believe  themselves  called  to  endure  every- 
thing, even  the  grossest  injustice,  with  meekness,  and 
who  hold  it  their  duty  to  entreat  forgiveness  of  their 
lords  and  masters  for  continuing  to  exist  at  all.  The 
sight  of  that  quiet  woman,  with  her  sad  face,  upon  which 
pain  had  ploughed  deep  furrows,  sitting  at  the  window 
mending  the  straw-coloured  gloves  in  which  her  husband 
was,  in  the  evening,  to  play  the  part  of  an  aesthetic  ex- 
quisite, while  she  lay  suffering  at  home,  would  instantly 
suggest  the  complete  picture  of  an  unhappy  wife  tied  to 
the  side  of  a  cold-blooded  egotist. 

"  Poor  Professor  Herbert !"  people  were  wont  to  say, 
"  what  a  misfortune  it  is  for  a  man  to  have  such  an  in- 
valid wife  !" 

But  a  closer  observer  of  the  pair  would  have  said, 
"  What  a  misfortune  for  an  invalid  wife  to  have  such  a 
husband !" 

The  miserable  woman,  however,  bad  no  such  thought; 
she  would  gladly  have  died, — not  only  to  be  free  from  suf- 
fering, but  that  her  husband  might  be  rid  of  her  presence. 
In  her  inmost  heart  she  despised  his  selfishness  and  want 
of  feeling.  She  knew  that  a  worthier  man  would  have 
had  consideration  for  her  and  patience  with  her,  as  her 
burden  was  surely  the  heavier ;  but  she  was  too  much 
afraid  of  her  husband  to  put  such  thoughts  in  words, 
even  to  her  own  mind.  Suffering  that  is  incessant,  and 
that  undermines  the  physical  frame,  must  gradually 
weaken  the  mind;  and  thus  the  only  strength  of  the 
hapless  wife  consisted  in  hopeless  endurance. 

Professor  Herbert  entered  in  his  new  coat,  and  sur- 
veyed himself  attentively  in  the  large  mirror. 

"  It  fits  well, — does  it  not?"  he  asked. 

"  Very  well !  but  it  is  very  expensive." 

"  Did  the  bill  come  with  it  ?" 

"  Here  it  is." 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  so  bad.  Hecht  is  certainly  the  best 
tailor  in  the  city." 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  211 

A  shade  of  bitter  feeling  passed  across  his  wife's  face 
and  she  could  not  refrain  from  saying,  "When  I  recollect 
that  you  lately  refused  to  let  me  have  the  shawl  I  so 

needed,  that  did  not  cost  half  so  much,  and " 

"  The  money  for  your  dress  all  goes  to  the  apothecary, 
my  dear,"  Herbert  replied,  with  a  sneer. 

"  My  dress !"  his  wife  repeated, — "  you  would  be 
ashamed  to  walk  in  the  street  with  me, — my  clothes  are 
so  shabby." 

"  No  one  expects  much  elegance  from  an  invalid  whose 
illness  costs  her  husband  so  much  money." 

Frau  Herbert  cast  a  glance  at  her  husband,  but  she 
said  not  a  word  more.  For  one  moment  she  leaned 
her  weary  head  against  the  back  of  her  chair,  but  the 
position  was  too  uncomfortable,  and  she  resumed  her 
work,  thinking  with  pain  how  the  physician  had  imper- 
atively recommended  her  to  procure  a  more  comfortable 
chair,  in  which  she  could  sleep  sitting  up, — but  now 
this  small  luxury,  as  well  as  all  the  rest,  had  been  denied 
her! 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  in  rustled  and  fluttered 
a  creature  half  child,  half  old  maid, — half  butterfly,  half 
bat.  Around  her  head  floated  a  mass  of  very  light  curls. 
A  nez  retrousse  gave  to  her  face  a  naive  air  of  youthful- 
ness,  which,  however,  the  crafty,  eager  expression  of 
her  small  eyes  contradicted.  Just  so  her  teeth,  short  and 
wide  apart,  resembled  those  of  a  young  child  who  has 
shed  his  first  set,  while  the  wrinkles  about  her  thin, 
open  lips  indicated  an  age  of  thirty  years  at  least.  The 
figure,  crowned  by  this  strange  head  with  its  huge  mane 
of  curls,  was  delicate  and  slender  as  that  of  a  half-grown 
girl.  Her  hands  were  small,  but  wrinkled  like  those  of 
an  old  woman.  She  was  dressed  in  thin,  flowing  gar- 
ments,— her  round  straw  hat  was  adorned  by  long,  light- 
brown  ribbons.  Her  gait,  bearing,  and  address  were 
light,  airy,  sylph-like.  It  was  evident  at  the  first  glance 
that  she  was  a  creature  who  believed  herself  highly  poetic, 
richly  gifted,  breathing  a  charmed  atmosphere,  and  that 
although  she  might  in  reality  be  thirty  years  old  she  had 
in  imagination  never  passed  sweet  sixteen.  Such  a  creat- 
ure is  only  conceivable  with  a  sheet  of  music  or  a  sketch- 


212  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

book  in  her  hand ;  and,  in  obedience  to  a  mysterious  law 
of  nature,  this  too  was  not  wanting  in  the  present  in- 
stance. "Brother,  darling!"  she  cried,  skipping  up  to 
Herbert,  "  how  charming  you  are  in  your  new  coat !  Aha, 
are  you  going  to  the  Mollner's  reception  this  evening? 
Yes  I"  Trilling  a  little  air,  she  laid  aside  her  book,  hat, 
and  gloves.  "  Tra-la-la-la — oh,  I  am  so  happy  to-day 
I  cannot  talk,  I  can  only  sing."  And  she  hummed  the 
refrain  of  the  charming  song  by  Taubert,  "  I  know  not 
why,  but  sing  I  must !"  Then  she  remembered  that  she 
had  not  yet  spoken  to  her  brother's  wife.  "  Oh,  dear 
Illrika,  forgive  me  for  not  asking  how  you  are.  No  better 
yet  ?  Ah  !  your  little  Elsa  is  so  agitated  to-day  !  I  feel — 
I  can't  tell  how — my  bosom  heaves  and  thrills  as  with 
the  breath  of  May !  I  must  go  to  my  work.  To-day  I 
feel  sure,  in  my  present  frame  of  mind,  I  must  create 
something  1" 

And  she  was  about  to  hover  away  to  the  blissful  re- 
tirement of  her  own  room,  when  Herbert,  who  had  mean- 
while exchanged  his  new  coat  for  a  light  summer  sacque, 
cried  after  her,  "Stay  here  a  moment,  and  speak  at  least 
one  sensible  word  before  you  go." 

She  paused. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  attempt  now  ?  I  am  really 
afraid  to  trust  you  by  yourself." 

She  skipped  up  to  her  brother  again  and  roguishly 
laid  her  finger  on  his  lips,  looking  archly  in  his  eyes. 
"  Dearest  brother,  I  shall  surprise  you  !  I  have  an  idea  !" 

"  Pray  cease  your  folly  for  the  present.  You  do  not 
want  to  flirt  with  your  brother,  I  hope  ?  Tell  me,  what 
is  your  idea  ?  If  it  is  good  for  anything,  it  .will  be  the 
first  of  its  kind  that  you  have  ever  had  in  your  head." 

"  Oh,  you  discourteous  brother  !"  pouted  the  fair  indig- 
nant, "  to  grieve  your  sister  so !  But,  since  you  bid  me, 
I  will  obey  you,  and  give  you  a  glimpse  into  the  trans- 
parent depths  of  an  artist's  soul.  Every  maiden  must 
practise  the  sweet  duty  of  obedience,  that  she  may  one 
day  gladden  a  husband's  heart  by  her  submission." 

"Well,  well,  to  the  point !"  cried  Herbert  impatiently. 

Elsa  bashfully  cast  down  her  eyes,  and,  stammering 
with  the  charming  embarrassment  of  an  artistic  nature, 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  213 

said,  "  When,  a  few  days  ago,  I  asked  Professor  Mollner 
what  lady  author  was  his  favourite,  he  answered  me  in 
jest,  '  She  who  has  written  the  best  cookery  book  !'  I 
am  going  to  show  the  mocking  man  that  I  can  do  that 
too.  Oh,  how  amazed  he  will  be  when  he  finds  that  the 
wealth  of  fancy  in  my  soul  can  beautify  and  transfigure 
what  is  so  prosaic !  This  it  is  that  he  deems  the  charm 
of  womanhood, — the  power  to  seize  and  mould  to  beauty 
the  commonplace  and  sordid.  I  am  going  to  publish  a 
cookery  book  in  verse,  with  illustrations,  and  entitle  it 
'  The  German  Wife  at  the  Hearth  of  Home.'  Only  think 
what  splendid  initial  letters  and  arabesques  I  can  have ! 
I  will  show  that  a  bunch  of  parsley  can  be  as  gracefully 
arranged  as  roses  or  violets.  Such  lovely  green  borders 
to  the  pages  must  always  be  beautiful,  whether  composed 
of  parsley,  lettuce,  or  sorrel ;  and,  if  a  warmer  colour  is 
desirable,  I  will  paint  a  couple  of  blushing  radishes 
peeping,  half  hidden,  from  among  the  leaves,  and  there 
you  have  as  perfect  a  picture  as  any  of  our  famous  artistes 
have  produced  of  Spring.  Is  not  the  meanest  kitchen- 
stuff  the  work  of  the  Creator,  and  as  beautiful  as  any 
other  of  his  creations  ?  And  there  can  be  such  variety 
in  the  volume.  For  example,  the  chapter  of  receipts  for 
cooking  fish  can  have  a  title-page  of  its  own,  after  the 
style  of  the  engravings  in  Schleiden's  '  Wonders  of  the 
Deep.'  Beneath  a  placid  crystal  lake  may  be  seen 
sporting  together  all  the  fish  alluded  to  in  the  ensuing 
chapter.  Branches  of  coral  are  wreathed  in  and  out,  and, 
illuminated  by  the  rosy  light  of  the  setting  sun,  water- 
lilies  float  upon  the  calm  surface  of  the  water.  Every 
chapter  will  have  a  suitable  title-page,  displaying  in  its  na- 
tive element  the  animal  to  be  cooked, — game  in  the  forest, 
fleeing  from  the  pursuing  huntsman  and  hounds, — the 
dove  hovering  above  the  ark,  with  the  olive-branch  in 
her  beak, — domestic  fowls,  in  the  Dutch  style,  cooped  in 
their  accustomed  poultry  yard.  Fruit  and  vegetables  can 
be  treated  as  still-life,  in  arabesques,  and  decorating  the 
margins  of  single  recipes.  At  the  end  of  the  book  a 
picture  representing  a  family  seated  at  dinner.  Over  their 
heads,  in  gothic  letters,  the  line,  '  Lord  Jesus,  come  and 
be  our  guest.'  And,  in  pursuance  of  this  invitation,  he 


214  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

must  be  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table,  in  the  midst  of  a 
brilliant  halo  of  glory.  On  either  side  of  the  table  sit 
the  children,  and  at  the  foot  the  happy  husband  and  wife, 
each  offering  food  to  the  other.  Angels  are  in  attendance 
upon  the  able, — the  angels  of  harmony,  peace,  and  con- 
tent. The  wife  sits  with  her  face  turned  from  the  specta- 
tor, but  the  husband — and  this  is  the  grand  point — the 
husband  will  be  a  portrait !" 

She  paused,  carried  away  by  her  poetic  dreams,  and 
by  the  thought  of  the  immense  success  that  the  book 
must  command. 

"Well,  and  whom  is  the  portrait  to  represent? — me, 
perhaps?"  asked  Herbert  with  a  sneer. 

"You?  Oh,  no.  Ah,  rogue!  can  you  not  guess? 
Heavens !  do  not  look  at  me  so, — you  know  whom  I 
mean  !" 

"  Mollner  ?"  asked  her  brother. 

"  Yes, — you  have  guessed  it.  Oh,  when  I  think  of  the 
smile  that  will  play  around  that  proud  mouth  as  he  be- 
holds his  portrait  drawn  by  my  hand,  as  he  sees  how  his 
image  is  present  with  me  everywhere  in  all  that  I  think 
and  do  I  Oh,  it  will,  it  must  touch  him  !" 

"  Yes,  it  will  touch  him  uncommonly,"  remarked  Her- 
bert;  "and  there  will  be  a  charming  scene  when  he 
presents  his  inamorata,  the  Hartwich,  with  the  work,  that 
she  may  learn  cookery  from  it.  Do  not  forget  to  add  a 
receipt  for  broiling  frogs'  legs,  by  which  she  can  dress  the 
frogs  that  they  use  together  for  their  physiological  ex- 
periments." 

"  Oh,  Edmund  !"  exclaimed  Elsa,  startled  and  a  little 
vexed,  "  your  words  are  full  of  wormwood  to-day.  Go, — 
your  caustic  wit  destroys  all  my  flowers  of  fancy.  This 
is  why  I  always  avoid  you  when  I  am  about  to  begin  a 
work.  What  pleasure  can  it  give  you  to  thrust  me  from 
my  paradise  ?  Is  it  right  ?  Let  the  soul  that  can  find 
110  home  on  this  rude  earth  seek  it  in  brighter  realms." 

And  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  laid  her 
wrinkled  little  hand  upon  her  breast.  "  Mine  is  a  modest, 
shrinking  soul, — its  childlike  trust  and  hope  are  all  that 
I  possess.  Dear  brother,  do  not  you  rob  me  of  them,  as 
long  as  no  other  hand  snatches  them  from  me." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  215 

"  But  you  must  find  out  at  last  that  your  hopes  are 
vain,  and  therefore  I  wish  to  warn  you,  that  you  may  not 
make  yourself  ridiculous  by  an  untimely  parade  of  your 
feelings.  I  know,  from  the  most  trustworthy  sources, 
that  Mdllner  has  been  to  Hochstetten  to  see  the  Hart- 
wich,  and  that  he  spent  two  hours  with  her.  Rhyme 
that  with  his  enthusiasm- for  her  at  the  meeting  the  other 
day,  and  complete  the  verse  yourself." 

Elsa  looked  down  and  thought  for  a  minute  or  two, 
then  she  sighed  and  shook  her  flowing  mane,  saying, 
"  No,  it  cannot,  cannot  be  !  That  man-woman  may  ex- 
cite his  curiosity,  she  cannot  win  his  heart !  No,  no, 
Elsa  has  no  fear  that  Lohengriin  will  be  misled  by  Ort- 
rude !  And  now  to  work,  that  the  day  may  soon  come 
when  he  will  ask,  '  Elsa,  whose  is  the  face  of  the  wife 
who  sits  at  table  by  my  side  ?'  Then  I  shall  avert  my 
face  and  reply,  'That  you  know  best.'  Oh,  darling 
brother !  dearest  sister !  he  will  turn  my  blushing  counte- 
nance to  him  then,  and  say,  '  This  is  her  face !'  Oh,  I 
must  go :  the  breath  of  spring  is  wafted  towards  me  from 
my  studio.  Yes,  yes,  I  feel  that  the  Muses  await  me 
there."  With  these  words  she  rustled  and  fluttered  away 
to  her  room. 

Frau  Herbert  looked  after  her  with  a  sad,  almost  a 
compassionate,  glance.  "  Tell  me,  Edmund,"  she  said  to 
her  husband,  "did  you  ever  for  one  moment  believe  that 
such  a  man  as  Mollner  would  marry  that  girl  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  There  are  many  more  unequal  matches 
made  every  day:  the  only  thing  is  to  mano3uvre  the 
matter  skilfully.  If  poor  Elsa  had  as  managing  a  mother 
as  you  were  blessed  with,  the  affair  would  certainly  not 
be  beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility.  But  the  poor  thing 
has  no  one  to  help  her  but  myself,  and  we  men  are 
clumsier  at  match-making  than  the  most  stupid  of 
women." 

Frau  Herbert  looked  pained  and  crushed  by  this  attack 
upon  her  mother  and  herself.  She  thought  it,  however, 
beneath  her  dignity  to  reply  to  it.  She  only  said  very 
quietly,  "I  am  glad,  Edmund,  that  there  is  one  creature 
in  the  world  for  whom  you  have  some  regard,  or  even 
blind  affection.  Well,  she  is  your  sister.  I,  too,  love 


216  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

the  poor  thing,  but  I  cannot  believe  that  she  will  ever 
succeed  in  kindling  one  spark  of  interest  in  Mollner's 
breast. " 

"  You  have  always  regarded  her  with  jaundiced  eyes," 
Herbert  went  on  to  say.  "  You  talk  as  though  she  were  a 
monster.  She  is  no  longer  young,  but  there  is  still  some- 
thing youthful  about  her.  She  is  not,  it  is  true,  a  genius, 
but  her  nature  is  really  artistic.  She  is  not  pretty,  but  an 
enthusiast  like  Mollner  is  more  observant  of  inner  graces 
than  physical  beauty,  and  he  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed 
by  her  beauty  of  soul.  It  certainly  is  true  that  he 
always  distinguishes  her  in  society.  Does  he  not  always 
take  her  to  supper  when  she  is  unprovided  with  an  escort, 
as  is  usually  the  case  ?  When  all  the  others  avoid  her, 
is  not  Mollner  sure  to  sit  and  talk  with  her  ?  Such  a 
conscientious  prig  as  Mollner  would  not  do  that  unless  he 
had  some  object  in  view  ;  and  if  she  has  no  other  charm 
for  him,  her  undisguised  admiration  of  him  would  attract 
him  to  her,  for  he  has  a  due  amount  of  vanity,  and  every 
one  must  take  pleasure  in  being  so  fanatically  adored. 
If  it  were  not  for  that  confounded  Hartwich,  who  knows 
how  far  he  might  be  brought !  But  I  will  be  revenged 
upon  her,  she  may  rely  upon  that!" 

"  Why  visit  your  anger  upon  the  innocent?  How  can 
it  be  this  stranger's  fault  that  Mollner  is  more  interested 
by  her  genius  than  by  our  Elsa's  sentimental  dilettanteism, 
her  perpetual  attempts  and  failures?  His  courtesy  to 
her  in  society  always  seemed  to  me  prompted  by  his 
humanity.  She  certainly  makes  herself  very  ridiculous, — 
you  must  see  that;  and  a  man  of  Mollner's  kindly,  chiv- 
alric  character  cannot  permit  an  innocent,  harmless  girl 
to  be  made  sport  of,  and,  accordingly,  he  constitutes  him- 
self her  protector,  and  tries  generously  to  indemnify  her 
for  the  neglect  of  others.  He  does  not  dream  that  Elsa's 
vanity  builds  all  kinds  of  schemes  upon  his  conduct,  or 
he  would  never  forgive  himself " 

"Enough,  enough  !"  Herbert  interrupted  her  angrily. 
"I  cannot  see  how,  with  the  pain  in  your  face,  you  man- 
age to  talk  so. much.  I  can  understand  that  Elsa  is  dis- 
agreeable to  you  because  I  have  educated  her,  but  I 
cannot  understand  how,  tied  to  your  invalid  chair  as  you 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  217 

are,  you  have  contrived  to  fall  in  love  with  this  Mollner. 
Indeed,  if  I  had  not  had  hopes  of  marrying  him  to  my 
sister,  I  should  have  broken  with  the  arrogant  pedant 
long  ago,  for  I  hate  him  as  much  as  you  women,  old  and 
young,  adore  him." 

Frau  Herbert  looked  with  a  quiet,  thoughtful  expression 
at  the  speaker,  who  had  worked  himself  into  a  violent 
rage,  and  then  she  silently  resumed  her  work,  suppressing 
the  words  that  rose  to  her  lips, — for  she  possessed  the 
rare  talent  of  knowing  when  to  be  silent. 

Herbert  waited  for  some  minutes  for  a  reply  which 
might  afford  him  further  opportunity  for  venting  his 
spleen,  but,  receiving  none,  he  turned  away,  and  was 
about  to  seek  his  study. 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  post- 
man entered,  with  a  thick  square  parcel  in  his  hand. 
Herbert  grew  pale  at  sight  of  it,  and  his  wife  too  looked 
sad  and  sorry. 

"Your  manuscript?"  she  asked. 

"  My  manuscript,"  he  said,  writing  his  name  in  the 
mail-book  with  an  unsteady  hand. 

"  There's  a  gulden  and  twenty-four  kreutzers  to  pay," 
said  the  messenger. 

"  So  much  ?"  growled  Herbert,  counting  out  the  money 
carefully  by  groschen  and  kreutzers.  When  the  man 
had  left  the  room,  Herbert  hastily  tore  open  the  envelope, 
and  a  letter  appeared,  which  he  hurriedly  looked  through 
and  handed  to  his  wife  with  a  look  of  despair.  The  letter 
was  from  the  manager  of  the  royal  court  theatre  at 
X ,  and  ran  thus  : 

"  To  HEER  PROFESSOR  HERBERT,  of  N : 

"  I  am  greatly  concerned,  sir,  to  be  obliged  to  return 
you  your  tragedy  of  '  Penthesilea,'  as  it  presents  insur- 
mountable difficulties  for  scenic  representation.     The  se- 
crecy enjoined  upon  me  shall  be  inviolably  preserved. 
"  With  great  respect,  etc., 

"  W ." 

Frau  Herbert  looked  up  with  a  sigh  at  her  husband, 
who  stood  pale  and  trembling  beside  her. 

19 


218  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

"  There  goes  my  last  hope,"  he  said,  tearing  up  the 
letter.  "  I  forgave  all  the  other  managers  and  directors 
for  sending  back  the  manuscript,  for  they  are  incapable 
of  appreciating  the  value  of  such  a  work.  Bat  no  one 

can  accuse  a  man  like  W of  not  appreciating  genuine 

art,  and  if  he  refuses  to  bring  it  out  he  must  be  actuated 
by  envy.  However  that  may  be,  in  these  lines  he  has 
written  his  own  death-warrant."  He  raised  his  hand 
containing  the  crushed  letter  with  something  like  solem- 
nity, and  continued :  "  I  now  declare  war  upon  the  Ger- 
man stage  and  its  supporters.  If  I  have  nothing  to  hope, 
I  have  nothing  to  fear.  I  have  written  six  tragedies  for 
the  waste-paper  basket.  I  will  not  write  another.  Having 
nothing  to  fear,  I  may  allow  myself  the  delight  of  revenge. 
Criticism  is  an  all-embracing  friend,  affording  a  sure  re- 
fuge for  every  one  who  is  misunderstood  and  depreciated. 
I  will  throw  myself  into  its  arms  from  this  moment.  Our 
public  is  degenerate.  I  give  up  composing  for  a  people 
who  crowd  to  a  farce,  shout  applause  at  the  commonplace 
jests  of  the  hero  of  a  modern  comedy,  and  dissolve  in  tears 
at  a  sensation  drama  from  a  woman's  pen.  Shakspeare's, 
Schiller's,  and  Goethe's  works  would  be  rejected  to-day  as 
'  pulpit  eloquence,'  if  past  ages  had  not  stamped  them  as 
classic.  This  degraded  generation  must  be  educated 
anew  by  criticism.  They  sneer  and  jeer,  and  jingle  the 
money  in  their  pockets,  these  traders  of  the  drama,  who 
demoralize  the  public;  but  I  will  so  scourge  them  that 
I  shall  be  called  the  Attila  of  the  German  stage." 

He  paused,  for  breath  failed  him  to  continue  his  phi- 
lippic, and  he  began  to  read  over  his  manuscript,  mur- 
muring to  himself,  "  This  is  for  the  future." 

Frau  Herbert,  as  was  her  wont,  suffered  him  to  rage 
on  without  interruption;  but  at  last  she  was  compelled, 
out  of  regard  for  truth,  to  attempt  to  check  the  outpour- 
ings of  the  angry  man.  "  It  is  a  mournful  office,"  she 
began,  "  that  of  literary  executioner,  and  one  I  should 
be  sorry  to  undertake.  There  is  no  good  done  to  any- 
body by  it.  Many  a  blossoming  genius  is  destroyed  in 
the  bud,  and  the  critic  brings  upon  himself  the  curses  of 
those  who  have  been  striving  and  labouring  honestly, 
night  and  day,  only  to  see  the  offspring  of  all  their  pains 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  219 

ruthlessly  murdered  by  the  cold  steel  of  his  criticism- 
And  the  public  do  not  thank  you  for  degrading  in  its 
eyes  what  it  had  taken  pleasure  in,  and  thus  robbing  it 
of  much  enjoyment.  Schiller  and  Goethe  never  practised 
criticism  after  this  fashion.  They  knew  how  to  live  and 
let  live,  for  they  were  too  great  to  wish  to  aggrandize 
themselves  at  the  expense  of  their  contemporaries,  and 
too  good  to  destroy  the  results  of  the  painful  labours  of 
others.  Oh,  Edmund,  how  small  the  man  must  be  who 
can  seek  to  exalt  himself  by  depreciating  others  !" 

"  You  are  preaching  again  without  sense  or  reason," 
Herbert  said  angrily  to  his  wife.  "  It  \vas  very  easy  for 
Schiller  and  Goethe  to  play  at  magnanimity,  for  they 
were  never  misunderstood, — the  wiser  generation  of  their 
day  did  not  refuse  them  the  crowns  that  belonged  to  them 
of  right.  A  king  by  election  would  be  a  fool  to  make 
war  upon  the  vassals  of  his  realm.  But  the  nation 
refuses  me  my  right,  and  therefore  I  shall  make  war 
upon  it." 

"  Are  you  so  sure  of  this  right?"  Frau  Herbert  asked 
in  a  low  tone.  "  Are  you  so  sure  that  your  works  are  of 
equal  value  with  Schiller's  and  Goethe's,  and  deserve  the 
same  applause  ?" 

Herbert  stood  as  if  petrified  at  the  presumption  of  such 
a  speech.  "  I  really  think  the  pain  must  have  gone  from 
your  face  to  your  brain.  We  had  better  discontinue  this 
conversation." 

Frau  Herbert  went  on  with  her  work.  A  slight  flush 
tinged  her  bloodless  cheek,  but  she  was  too  used  to  such 
attacks  to  reply  to  them.  She  had  already  said  too  much 
of  what  she  thought,  and  when  she  looked  at  Herbert's 
anxious  face  she  was  seized  with  compassion.  Poorly  as 
he  bore  it,  he  had  met  with  misfortune,  and  she  would 
not  add  to  his  pain.  "  Pray,  Edmund,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause,  occupied  by  Herbert  in  seeking  and  finding  conso- 
lation in  the  beauties  of  his  manuscript,  "make  up  your 
mind  now  to  read  the  piece  to  your  friends.  There  are 
so  many  intellectual  people  here  who  will  give  you  their 
opinion  honestly, — then  you  can  see  what  impression  your 
work  makes  as  a  whole,  and  perhaps  their  criticism  may 
enable  you  to  improve  it  here  and  there." 


220  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  I  desire  no  one's  opinion.  I  know  perfectly  well 
myself  what  the  tragedy  is  worth.  Shall  I  give  occasion 
to  have  it  said  that  I  needed  the  assistance  of  others  to 
enable  me  to  complete  my  work  ?  And  then  to  have  it 
reported  that  I  composed  dramas  that  were  always  re- 
jected !  No,  I  will  not  acknowledge  a  work  that  has 
met  with  no  applause  ;  neither  my  brother  professors 
nor  my  students  must  hear  of  it." 

The  handle  of  the  door  was  turned,  and  through  the 
opening  smiled  another  opening, — Elsa's  large  mouth. 
When  she  saw  the  gloom  overspreading  her  brother's 
countenance,  her  snub-nose,  too,  made  its  appearance, 
and,  finally,  her  entire  lovely  person.  She  wore  a  white 
apron  with  a  bib,  calico  over-sleeves,  and  had  one  pencil 
in  her  hand  and  another  behind  her  right  ear. 

"  Your  voices  disturbed  me  at  my  work.  Why  con- 
tend thus  ?  You  know  that  my  exquisite  fancies  are 
scared  away,  like  timid  birds,  by  the  slightest  noise." 

"  It  is  a  fine  time  to  consider  your  nonsense,  when 
such  a  work  as  my  '  Penthesilea'  has  been  returned  to 
its  author  as  '  unserviceable !'  "  thundered  her  brother. 

"  Heavens  !"  cried  Elsa  in  dismay.  "  Penthesilea  re- 
jected by  W !  Oh,  who  would  have  thought  it!  I 

so  revered  that  man !  My  poor  brother,  this  is  hard  I 
But,  brother,  dear  Edmund,  do  not  be  too  much  depressed  ! 
Oh,  I  feel  with  you  entirely.  Any  one  who  knows  as 
well  as  I  do  what  it  is  to  have  works  rejected,  can  under- 
stand your  pain.  And  what  says  my  poor  Ulrika  ?  She 
looks  so  disappointed." 

"Oh,  you  need  not  pity  her!"  observed  Herbert  bit- 
terly. "  Her  husband's  incapacity  alone,  not  his  misfor- 
tune, troubles  her." 

Fran  Herbert  turned  her  face  towards  the  window,  as 
if  she  had  not  heard  him. 

"  Oh,  you  must  forgive  her,  brother  dear — she  has  never 
done  anything  but  translate.  She  cannot  know  a  poet's 
finer  feeling." 

At  this  disparaging  remark,  Frau  Herbert  looked  calmly 
and  gravely  at  Elsa.  "  And  3ret  my  unpretending  trans- 
lations for  the  periodicals  supply  us  with  the  only  means 
upon  which  we  can  rely,  apart  from  Edmund's  salary  and 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  221 

the  small  interest  of  my  property.  That  is  because  I 
never  attempt  what  lies  beyond  my  reach.  No  under- 
taking, however  humble,  that  keeps  pace  with  one's  ability, 
can  fail  to  produce  some  fruit,  small  though  it  may  be." 
Elsa  turned  away,  rather  taken  aback  by  this  turn  of 
the  conversation,  and  her  brother  muttered,  "  Of  course 
this  is  the  sequel  to  the  fine  talk  about  attempting  and 
failing." 

Elsa  threw  herself  down  upon  a  cushion  at  his  feet,  in 
Clarchen's  attitude  before  Egrnont,  patted  his  smoothly 
shaven  cheeks,  and  taking  the  thick  manuscript  out  of  his 
hand,  pressed  it  to  her  bosom,  saying,  "  Take  comfort, 
my  poet.  Your  '  Penthesilea'  must  always  live  !  Here, — 
here, — -and  in  the  hearts  of  all.  Print  it,  and  publish  it 
as  a  dramatic  poem.  It  will  find  readers  among  the  most 
intellectual  people  of  the  country." 

"  You  are  a  good  sister,"  said  Herbert, flattered.  "But 
you  know  that  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  find  a  pub- 
lisher enlightened  enough  to  bring  out  my  tragedies. 
And  my  own  means  are  not  sufficient  to  enable  me  to 
print  the  work." 

"  Oh,  brother  dear,  I  cannot  believe  that  '  Penthesilea' 
would  not  find  a  publisher.  It  is  the  greatest  thing  you 
have  ever  written.  The  coarsest  of  men  must  be  touched 
by  such  elevation  of  thought.  There  may  perhaps  be 
some  difficulty  in  representing  fitly  upon  the  stage  the 
conflict  between  Trojans,  Greeks,  and  Ama/ons  in  the 
presence  of  the  gigantic  horse.  But  I  cannot  think  that 
any  one  would  refuse  to  print  such  a  gem, — no — never! 
Yet,  even  in  case  of  such  incredible  obtuseness,  do  not 
despair.  My  cookery-book  will  bring  me  in  such  a  large 
sum  that  I  shall  be  able  to  help  you.  Oh,  what  a  strange 
freak  of  destiny,  should  I  be  permitted  by  means  of  a 
cookery-book  to  afford  the  German  nation  the  knowledge 
of  this  immortal  work  !  The  ways  of  genius  are  inscru- 
table, and  perhaps  '  Penthesilea'  may  one  day  be  born 
from  the  steam  of  a  soup-tureen,  as  Aphrodite  was  from 
the  foam  of  the  sea.  There,  now,  you  are  smiling  once 
more.  May  not  your  sister  contribute  somewhat  to  her 
brother's  success  ?" 

"  You  are  a  dear  poetical  child.     Although  I  do  not 
19* 


222  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

share  your  anticipations,  your  appreciation  of  my  efforts 
does  me  good.  Thank  you!"  And  darling  Edmund  laid 
his  hand  upon  his  sister's  curly  head  as  it  lay  tenderly 
upon  his  breast. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

EMANCIPATION   OP   THE   FLESH. 

ON  the  evening  of  this  eventful  day,  Professor  Herbert, 
before  going  to  the  Milliners',  entered  a  splendid  boudoir 
in  a  retired  villa  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  The  entire 
room  formed  a  tent  of  crimson  damask  shot  with  gold 
and  gathered  in  huge  folds  to  a  rosette  in  the  centre  of 
the  ceiling.  Around  the  walls  were  ranged  low  Turkish 
divans  of  the  same  material.  The  floor  was  covered  with 
crimson -plush  rugs  as  thick  and  soft  as  mossy  turf. 
Turkish  pipes  and  costly  weapons  of  all  kinds, — shields, 
swords,  pistols,  and  daggers, — adorned  the  walls.  In  the 
background  of  the  apartment  slender  columns  supported 
a  canopy  above  a  lounge,  before  which  was  spread  a  lion's 
skin,  with  thejhead  carefully  preserved.  Upon  the  floor 
beside  it  stood  an  elegant  apparatus  for  smoking  opium. 
A  riding-whip,  the  handle  set  with  diamonds,  lay  upon  a 
table  of  bronze  and  malachite.  A  Chinese  salver,  heaped 
with  cigars,  was  upon  a  low  stand  beside  the  lounge. 
Upon  a  polished  marble  pedestal  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  stood  a  bronze  of  the  Farnese  bull,  and  to  the  right 
and  left  of  the  lounge  were  placed  bronzes  of  the  horse- 
tamers  of  the  Monte  Cavallo  at  Rome.  The  rich  hang- 
ings of  the  walls  were  draped  over  candelabra  holding 
lamps  of  ground  glass. 

The  smoke  of  a  cigar  was  circling  in  blue  rings  around 
the  room,  that  was  far  more  fit  for  a  Turkish  pasha  than 
for  a  lady.  And  yet  it  was  the  abode  of  a  lady,  and  it  was 
the  smoke  from  her  cigar  that  encircled  Herbert  upon  his 
entrance. 

At  first  he  only  saw,  resting  on  the  lion's  skin,  two 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  223 

beautiful  little  feet  in  Russian  slippers  embroidered  with 
pearls.  The  drapery  of  the  canopy  above  the  lounge 
concealed  the  rest  of  the  figure.  He  advanced  a  few- 
steps,  and  there,  stretched  comfortably  upon  the  swell- 
ing cushions,  reclined  a  woman  beside  whom  all  other 
works  of  nature  were  but  journey-work, — such  a  woman 
as  appears  in  the  world  now  and  then  to  cast  utterly 
into  the  shade  all  that  men  have  hitherto  deemed  beau- 
tiful. Herbert  stood  dazzled  and  blinded  by  the  ap- 
parition before  him.  He  was  dressed  in  his  new  coat, 
and  had  an  elegant  cane  in  his  hand,  that  was  covered  by 
a  glove,  upon  which  his  wife  had  that  morning  employed 
her  skill.  But  what  was  he,  iu  all  his  elegance,  by  the 
side  of  this  woman  !  He  stood  there  dumb  "in  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  nothingness."  What  could  he  be  to 
her,  or  what  could  he  give  her?  She  was  the  woman  of 
her  race  I  She  must  mate  with  the  man  of  her  race,  as 
the  last  giantess  in  the  Nibeluugen  Lied  could  love  only 
the  last  giant.  Was  he  in  his  fine  new  coat  this  man  of 
men, — the  Siegfried  to  conquer  this  Brunhilda?  Ah,  he 
was  but  too  conscious  that  he  was  nothing  but  a  poor 
weakling,  whose  only  strength  lay  in  his  passionate  ad- 
miration of  her ! 

"  Aha,  here  comes  our  little  Philister,"  said  the  fair 
Brunhilda  in  broken  German  with  a  yawn,  holding  out 
her  soft  hand  to  him  and  drawing  him  down  upon  the 
lounge  beside  her  like  a  child.  Herbert  sank  into  the 
luxurious  cushions,  that  almost  met,  like  waves,  above 
him.  The  position  did  not  at  all  suit  his  stiff,  erect  bear- 
ing, which  was  entirely  wanting  in  the  graceful  supple- 
ness of  the  born  aristocrat  who  lolls  with  ease  upon 
silken  cushions.  Such  a  seat  would  become  a  man  in 
loose  flowing  costume,  with  an  opium-pipe  between  his 
lips,  and  ready  when  wearied  to  fall  asleep  with  his  head 
pillowed  upon  the  lady's  lap.  Poor  Herbert  was  not  one 
of  these  favourites  of  Fortune.  He  sat  there  stiff  and 
wooden  as  a  broken-jointed  doll,  —  his  pointed  knees 
emerging  from  his  downy  nest,  and  his  tight-fitting  clothes 
stretched  almost  to  their  destruction  by  his  unusual  pos- 
ture. He  timidly  placed  his  hat  upon  the  stand  beside 
him,  and  envied  it  its  loftier  position. 


224  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  How  now,  my  learned  gentleman  ?"  the  lady  began 
again.  "What!  dumb?  What  is  the  matter  now? — 
what  ails  you  ? — domestic  misery  ?  Pardon  !  I  mean 
conjugal  bliss." 

"  That  is  my  constant  trouble,  dearest  countess,"  Her- 
bert replied,  "  although  its  dust  never  cleaves  to  my 
wings  when  I  am  with  you.  It  is  not  that  that  worries 
me  to-day.  My  Penthesilea " 

The  countess  laughed  loudly,  and  puffed  out  a  cloud  of 
smoke  to  the  ceiling.  "  Here  it  comes  !  It  is  either  his 
wife  or  his  Penthesilea  that  teases  him  1  I  hope  both 
may  rest  in  eternal  peace  before  long,  for  an  unhappy 
husband  and  a  tragedy  are  as  much  out  of  place  in  this 
boudoir  as  the  fragrance  of  eau  de  Cologne  or  chamomile- 
tea — those  horrid  accompaniments  of  a  sick-room  !" 

"  And  yet  it  was  you,  fairest  countess,  that  inspired  me 
to  embalm  in  classic  verse  that  bold  Amazon  of  antiquity." 

"That  may  be,  and  yet,  my  good  fellow,  believe  me, 
Penthesilea  herself  would  have  considered  it  a  terrible 
bore  to  have  to  read  of  her  glory  in  a  German  tragedy. 
Come  ;  don't  be  offended  Have  a  cigar.  Do  you  want 
fire  to  light  it?  Here;  I  will  give  you  more  than  you 
need."  And,  with  a  laugh,  she  leaned  towards  him  and 
lighted  his  cigar  by  her  own. 

"  You  know  you  can  do  whatever  you  please  with  me," 
said  Herbert,  making  a  feeble  attempt  to  twist  his  legs 
into  a  more  comfortable  position.  "  But  take  care  not  to 
go  too  far !" 

"Oho!  my  Herr  Professor  would  fain  mount  his  high 
horse  ?" 

"  No,  only  take  a  higher  seat,"  said  Herbert  invol- 
untarily. 

"Well,  then,  sit  on  this  ottoman,  you  wooden  German 
with  no  sense  of  Oriental  ease.  There  1  will  that  do  ? 
When  you  really  wish  to  mount  a  high  horse,  I  pray  you 
take  mine.  How  often  I  have  placed  my  Ali  at  your  dis- 
posal! Do  let  me  enjoy  the  delight  of  once  seeing  you  on 
horseback  !  Will  you  not  ?  Oh,  it  would  be  delightful !" 

"Thanks!  thanks!  I  would  do  all  that  you  desire, — 
even  go  to  the  death  for  you, — but  it  is  rather  too  much 
to  ask  me  to  make  a  laughing-stock  of  myself." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  225 

"  "Well,  then,  just  take  one  walk  with  me,  arm-in-arm. 
Oh,  what  a  face  of  alarm  my  honourable  gentleman  puts 
on  !  He  will  go  to  the  death  for  me,  but  not  across  the 
street.  Ah,  what  a  glorious  hero  for  a  tragedy  he  looks 
now !  Hush  1  I  know  just  what  you  would  say, — -wife, 
sister,  cousins,  aunts,  good  name,  reputation  as  profes.sor, 
— 'great  dread,'  as  Holy  Writ  hath  it,  would  'fall  on  all!' 
Every  coffee-cup  and  tea-cup  in  the  city  of  N — — •  would 
rattle  abroad  the  startling  news  that  Professor  Herbert 
had  been  seen  escorting  the  wild  countess  across  the 
street.  But  it  is  all  en  regie  to  slip  around  here  in  the 
twilight,  and  kiss  my  hands  and  feet,  and  then,  at  your 
evening  party  afterwards,  shrug  your  shoulders  at  the 
mention  of  my  name.  For  shame,  Herbert !  you  are  a 
cowardly  fellow,  fit  for  nothing  but  to  be  a  messager 
(Vamour  between  myself  and  Mollner." 

"  Countess,"  said  Herbert  menacingly,  "  do  not  goad 
me  too  far,  or  you  will  repent  it !  You  know  my  passion 
for  you — know  that  I  would  dare  all  for  a  single  kiss 
from  your  lips  ;  but  you  leave  me  thirsty  at  the  fountain's 
brink, — hungry  beside  a  spread  table, — and  you  heap  me 
with  scorn.  No  living  man  could  endure  such  treat- 
ment!" 

"  Well,  then,  point  cfargent,  point  de  Suisse,"  cried  the 
countess.  "  Tor  every  piece  of  good  news  of  Mollner 
that  you  bring  me,  you  shall  have  a  kiss.  For  the  sake 
of  that  man  I  would  hold  an  asp  to  my  breast!  Why 
should  I  refuse  a  kiss  to  a  German  Philister  like  your- 
self ?  But  you  must  first  taste  all  the  torment  of  rejected 
love,  that  you  may  make  all  the  more  haste  to  put  an 
end  to  mine." 

"This  is  a  poor  prospect  for  me,  countess ;  for  I 
hardly  think  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  bring  you  good 
news.  All  that  I  can  do  is  to  bring  you  news  of  him ; 
and  if  you  refuse  to  reward  the  bad,  as  well  as  the  good, 
my  lips  shall  be  sealed — you  must  seek  another  confi- 
dant." 

He  rose,  as  if  to  go ;  but  she  took  his  hand,  and  looked 
beseechingly  at  him  with  her  large,  lustrous  eyes. 

"Herbert!" 

The  poor  professor  could  not  withstand  that  look,  nor 


226  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

the  tone  in  which  she  uttered  that  one  word.  He  sank 
upon  the  lion-skin  at  her  feet,  and  pressed  his  lips  upon 
the  pearls  and  silk  of  her  embroidered  slipper. 

"  See,  now,  you  are  not  as  unkind  as  you  would  have 
me  believe  you,"  she  said,  looking  down  upon  him  with 
a  contemptuous  smile,  that  he,  fortunately,  did  not  per- 
ceive. 

"  Oh,  have  some  compassion  upon  me,"  he  moaned. 
"  I  am  most  miserable  !  My  home  is  a  scene  of  ceaseless 
complaint.  A  wife  disfigured  and  crippled  by  disease,  so 
that  she  fills  my  soul  with  aversion,  and,  whenever  I  need 
rest  from  the  thousand  annoyances  of  my  profession,  only 
adds  to  their  number.  Then  I  am  overwhelmed  by  vexa- 
tions of  every  kind, — my  talents  are  slighted, — whatever 
I  attempt  fails.  And  then  this  contrast  when  I  come  to 
you!  Before  me  here  lies  all  that  is  fairest  and  loveliest 
that  earth  has  to  offer ;  but  the  delight  that  I  feel  in  behold- 
ing it  is  an  insidious  poison,  eating  into  my  very  life, — for 
nothing — nothing  of  all  this  splendour  is  mine.  I  stand 
like  a  boy  before  the  Christmas-tree  that  has  been  decked 
for  another,  —  I  am  here  only  to  light  the  lights  upon 
the  tree,  that  another  may  behold  his  bliss ;  and  when  I 
have  induced  that  other  to  appreciate  and  take  possession 
of  his  wealth,  then — then  I  must  turn  and  go  empty 
away !  Oh,  it  is  dreadful !"  He  buried  his  face  in  the 
lion's  mane,  and,  by  the  motion  of  his  shoulders,  he  was 
plainly  weeping. 

The  countess  looked  down  upon  him  with  the  compas- 
sion that  one  feels  for  a  singed  moth.  Had  it  been  possi- 
ble, she  would  have  crushed  him  beneath  her  foot  for  very 
pity, — just  as  we  put  an  end  to  the  insect's  sufferings ; 
but,  as  it  was  not  possible,  and  as,  moreover,  she  had 
need  of  the  man,  she  raised  him  graciously,  and  again 
seated  him  upon  the  cushions  beside  her.  "You  shall  not 
go  away  empty-handed,  my  good  fellow.  I  told  you  be- 
fore I  will  make  you  a  rich  man.  If  you  only  bring 
Mollner  to  my  side,  my  banker  shall  give  you,  as  long  as 
I  live » 

"  Countess  I"  he  exclaimed,  "  do  not  carry  your  scorn 
of  me  too  far.  I  am  sunk  low  enough,  it  is  true,  since  I 
thus  chaffer  and  bargain  with  you  to  sell  you  my  assist- 


OR   A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  227 

ance  for  a  single  kiss.  For  this  single  caress  I  would 
resign  my  life !  The  thought  of  you  is  the  madness 
that  robs  me  of  sleep  at  night,  makes  me  hesitate  and 
stammer  when  I  stand  before  my  pupils  in  the  lecture- 
room,  and  prevents  me  from  enjoying  the  food  that  I 
eat.  A  single  kiss  from  you  is  more  bliss  than  such 
a  wretched  man  as  I  should  hope  to  enjoy.  But  I  am 
not  yet  sunk  so  low  as  to  hire  myself  out  for  money,  and 
although  you  may  hold  me  in  contempt,  you  shall  at 
least  pay  some  respect  to  the  position  of  German  profes- 
sor, which  I  have  the  honour  to  hold  1" 

The  countess  was  silent  for  awhile,  struck  by  his 
words.  But  such  embarrassment  could  last  but  a  mo- 
ment with  a  woman  conscious  of  the  power  to  atone  by 
a  smile  for  the  grossest  insult.  "  Come  here !  Forgive 
me!  I  have  erred,  but  I  repent." 

"  Oh,  light  of  my  life  !"  cried  Herbert,  seizing  her 
offered  hand,  and  pressing  it  to  his  breast.  "  Forgive — 
forgive  you?  With  what  unnumbered  pains  would  I 
not  purchase  the  joy  of  such  a  request !  The  only  thing 
I  cannot  forgive  you  is  that  such  a  woman  as  you  should 
love  this  Mollner." 

"  Indeed  ! — and  why  ?" 

"  Because  he  is  not  worthy  of  you.  Look  you, — were 
you  to  give  yourself  to  an  emperor  or  a  king,  I  could  bear 
it  without  a  murmur.  Crowned  heads  are  entitled  to  the 
costliest  of  earth's  treasures, — how  could  I  covet  what 
kings  alone  could  win  ?  But  that  one  of  my  own  class 
should  call  you  his, — one  with  no  special  claim  of  birth, 
culture,  or  intellect, — with  nothing  that  I  too  do  not  my- 
self possess,  except  a  physique  that  is  his  in  common 
with  any  prize-fighter, — the  thought  is  madness  !" 

A  dark  flush  coloured  the  beautiful  woman's  brow.  "I 
have  not  even  acknowledged  to  myself  why  I  love  this 
Mollner.  I  never  bold  myself  responsible  for  my  im- 
pulses— every  passion  bears  its  divine  credentials  in  it- 
self. But  you  have  just  revealed  to  me  what  so  enrap- 
tures me  in  this  Mollner.  Yes  I  it  is  nothing  else  than 
what  we  admire  as  the  highest  attribute  of  humanity — a 
noble,  genuine  manhood.  I  think  I  have  read  in  some 
poet,  '  Take  him  for  all  in  all,  he  was  a  man  !'  But  this 


228  ONLY  A    GIRL ; 

man  is  more ;  he  is  what  I  have  never  in  my  life  seen  be- 
fore,— a  virtuous  man.  This,  my  good  little  professor, 
is  his  charm,  his  advantage  over  monarcbs  even, — en- 
abling him  to  buy  what  is  his  now  and  forever, — my  heart ! 
Oh,  there  can  be  no  more  exquisite  flower  in  the  garden 
of  Paradise  than  this  which  I  hope  to  pluck — the  devo- 
tion of  this  virtuous  man.  It  is  the  bliss  of  Eve  when  she 
breathed  the  first  kiss  upon  the  lips  of  the  first  man  and 
marked  his  first  blush  !" 

The  beautiful  woman,  speaking  more  to  herself  than  to 
the  miserable  man  by  her  side,  leaned  back  upon  her 
lounge  and  exclaimed  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "  Oh,  what  a  di- 
vine office  for  a  woman — to  teach  a  man  like  this  to  love  !" 

Herbert  reflected  for  a  moment.  He  had  been  playing 
the  traitor  here,  and,  in  the  hope  of  winning  Johannes 
for  his  sister,  had  never  said  anything  to  him  in  favour 
of  this  woman.  He  had  deceived  her  with  falsehoods, 
that  he  might  be  retained  as  her  confidant  as  long  as  pos- 
sible, and  perhaps  profit  by  her  waning  interest  in  his 
colleague.  But  now  all  his  hopes  and  plans  were 
ruined.  Mollner  loved  the  Hartwich,  and  was  lost  for 
Elsa, — who  might,  at  all  events,  be  avenged  of  her  hated 
rival  by  means  of  the  countess.  The  all-conquering 
charms  of  the  Worronska  should  subdue  Mollner,  and  he, 
Herbert,  would  receive — all  that  was  left  for  him  in  the 
general  shipwreck — the  gratitude  at  least  of  the  countess. 

He  began  at  last,  after  a  severe  inward  conflict.  "  I 
have  a  communication  for  you,  but  it  will  make  you  angry. 
I  cannot,  however,  feel  justified  as  your  friend  in  with- 
holding it  from  you." 

"  Well  ?"  inquired  the  Amazon,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar. 

"  I  have  discovered  that  Mollner  is  in  love." 

The  countess  started,  and  looked  at  Herbert  as  if  in  a 
dream.  The  smoke  from  the  freshly-lighted  cigar  issued 
in  a  cloud  from  her  half-opened  lips,  and  she  looked  like 
a  beautiful  fiend  breathing  fire. 

"  Whom  does  he  love  ?"  she  asked,  her  eyes  flaming 
as  if  she  would  force  the  name  from  Herbert  before  his 
lips  could  find  time  to  utter  it. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  a  learned  woman  called  Hart- 
wich?" 


OR  A  rnrsicrAy  FOR  THE  SOUL.         229 

"  Yes,  yes !  she  too  is  emancipated." 

"True,  but  not  at  all  after  your  fashion,  countess," 
Herbert  corrected  her,  maliciously  enjoying  the  torture  to 
which  the  haughty  woman  was  put.  "You  are  emanci- 
pated for  the  sake  of  pleasure — she  is  emancipated  for  the 
.sake  of  principle.  She  is  a  rare  person,  and  fills  Mollncr 
with  admiration  of  her  genius!" 

"  Well,  and  it  is  she?"  she  cried,  stamping  her  little 
foot  upon  the  soft  carpet. 

"  He  is  in  love  with  her!" 

For  the  first  time,  the  countess  sprang-  up  from  her 
lounge,  and  stood  before  Herbert  in  all  the  majesty  of 
her  person.  Her  gold-embroidered  Turkish  robe  hung  in 
heavy  folds  around  her.  Her  dark  hair  fell  in  loosened 
masses  upon  her  shoulders.  The  glitter  of  her  long  dia- 
mond ear-rings  betrayed  the  tremor  that  agitated  her 
whole  frame.  Her  low,  classic  brow,  with  its  bold,  strongly- 
marked  eyebrows,— her  mouth,  shaped  like  a  bow,  with 
lips  parted, — her  firm,  massive  throa.t, — the  whole  figure, 
so  powerfully  and  yet  so  perfectly  formed, — all  suggested 
the  Niobe,  only  the  passion  that  swayed  her  was  rage, 
not  suffering.  "Is  this  true?  Is  it  really  true?  I  must 
hear  all." 

Herbert  told  her  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard. 

The  countess  was  silent  for  one  moment,  as  if  para- 
lyzed by  astonishment.  Then  she  muttered,  as  if  to  herself, 
a  few  broken  words  that  Herbert  could  not  understand,  but 
at  last  her  rage  overflowed  her  lips  and  reached  his  ears. 

"  There  is  a  first  time  for  everything.  This  is  the  first 
time  that  a  man  honoured  by  my  notice  has  loved 
another."  She  strode  up  and  down  the  room  so  hur- 
riedly that  the  flame  of  the  lamps  flickered  as  she  passed 
them.  She  threw  her  cigar  into  the  fireplace.  "  Must 
I  endure  it  ?  I  ?  Oh,  cursed  be  the  day  when  the  count 
came  here  for  his  health  !  For  this  I  have  spent  my 
months  of  widowhood  since  his  death,  in  this  hole,  away 
from  all  the  enchantments  of  the  world,  even  timidly 
waiting  and  hoping  like  a  bride, — no  society  about  me 
but  my  horses,  dogs,  and — you !  For  this,  for  this, — that 
I  might  learn  that  there  lives  a  man  who  can  withstand 
nie.  The  lesson,  it  is  true,  was  well  worth  the  trouble!" 

20 


230  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

She  struck  her  forehead.  "  Oh  that  I  had  never  gone 
to  that  lecture !  then  I  might  never,  perhaps,  have  seen 
him.  Why  did  I  not  stay  away  ?  What  do  I  care  about 
physiology,  anatomy,  or  whatever  the  trash  is  called?  I 
heard  this  Mollner  was  distinguished-  among  his  fellows, 
and  curiosity  impelled  me  to  go.  Fool  that  I  was,  to  ima- 
gine that  he  saw  me  there  and  admired  me  as  I  did  him  !" 
She  stood  still,  and  involuntarily  lost  herself  in  thought. 
"  Ye  gods  !  how  glorious  the  man  was  that  evening  !  The 
brow,  the  hair,  the  eyes,  were  all  of  Jove  himself.  I 
felt  myself  blush  like  a  girl  of  sixteen,  when  I  met  his 
eye.  And  such  grace,  such  dignity  !  His  voice,  too, — 
melodious  as  a  deep-toned  bell.  I  did  not  understand  what 
he  said;  bat  there  was  no  need,  his  voice  was  such  har- 
mony that  no  words  were  wanting  to  the  charm.  It  was  a 
symphony, — no,  finer  still,  for  that  we  only  hear,  and  in 
him  the  delight  of  sight  was  added.  The  movements  of 
those  lips — how  inimitable  !  And  then  his  smile  !"  She 
paused, — her  cheeks  glowed,  her  eyes  sparkled.  It  was 
a  delight  to  her  to  lay  bare  her  heart  for  once,  careless  as 
to  what  were  the  feelings  of  her  auditor. 

"  And  if  that  voice  is  so  enchanting  when  it  discourses 
upon  dry,  unmeaning  topics,  what  must  it  be  when  it 
comes  overflowing  from  his  heart!"  She  leaned  against 
the  pedestal  of  one  of  the  bronzes,  and  covered  her  eyes 
with  her  hand. 

Herbert  sat  as  if  upon  the  rack, — he  could  not  speak, — 
his  voice  denied  him  utterance. 

"  No  man  has  seemed  to  me  worthy  of  a  glance  since  I 
saw  him  first.  Bound  by  no  vow,  no  duty,  no  right,  I 
have  still  been  true  to  him.  Since  loving  him,  1  have 
first  known  a  sense  of  what  the  moralist  would  call 
decorous  reserve.  For  a  woman  who  for  the  first  time 
truly  loves  is  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth,  whether  she  be 
sixteen  or  thirty.  I  was  a  wife  before  I  was  a  woman, 
and  iho  spring,  that  I  bad  never  known  before,  began  to 
breathe  around  me  beneath  the  magic  influence  of  that 
man, — the  maiden  blossom  of  my  life,  crushed  in  the 
germ,  budded  anew.  Oh,  what  would  I  not  have  been 
to  him!  I,  with  the  experience  of  ripened  womanhood 
and  the  first  love  of  a  girl  !  And  scorned !  I,  for  whose 


OR   A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  231 

smile  monnrchs  have  contended,  scorned  by  a  simple 
German  philosopher  !  Oh,  it  stings,  it  stings!" 

And  she  hid  her  face  again. 

Herbert  timidly  approached  her  and  touched  her  shoul- 
der lightly  with  a  trembling  hand.  "  Would  lhat  I  could 
console  you !" 

She  shrank  from  his  touch  as  if  a  reptile  had  stung 
her. 

"  What  consolation  can  you  give  me,  except  the  relief 
that  I  have  in  pouring  out  my  soul  before  you  ?" 

She  moved  away,  and  again  strode  restlessly  to  and 
fro  like  a  caged  lioness.  "  Fool,  fool  that  I  was !  How 
could  I  suppose  that  the  interest  he  took  in  my  husband's 
case  was  due  to  my  attractions  ?  It  was  inspired  by  a 
hateful  disease, — for  this  he  came  hither,  and  I  thought 
he  came  for  my  sake  !  Oh,  fie,  fie !  I  stayed  for  love  of 
him  by  that  terrible  sick-bed,  and  he  had  eyes  only  for 
the  sick  man, — he  never  even  saw  me  standing  beside 
him.  Is  he  man,  or  devil  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  Herbert  interrupted  her,  with  malice,  "he 
is  only — a  German  philosopher." 

"  And  once,  when  I  sank  fainting  in  that  room,  what 
an  arm  supported  me,  strong  as  iron,  and  yet  tender  as 
the  arm  of  a  mother !  He  carried  me  like  a  child  from 
the  apartment.  I  held  my  breath,  that  nothing  might 
arouse  me  from  that  enchanting  dream.  He  laid  me  on 
a  couch,  saying,  with  icy  composure,  '  Allow  me,  ma- 
dam, to  call  your  maid.  I  must  return  to  the  patient.' 
My  cheeks  burned  with  mortification  ;  for  one  moment  I 
hated  him,  but  when  the  door  had  closed  behind  him  I 
revered  him  as  a  saint.  I  could  have  knelt  at  his  feet, 
and,  clasping  his  knees,  bedewed  his  hands  with  peniten- 
tial tears.  But  I  restrained  myself.  I  suddenly  knew 
that  this  pure  spirit  could  love  nothing  that  he  did  not 
respect, — that  I  must  first  win  that  before  I  could  hope 
for  his  love.  I  determined  to  begin  a  new  life,  to  break 
with  all  the  past.  For  no  sacrifice  would  be  too  great  to 
win  the  love  of  this  man,  and  I  sowed  renunciation  that 
I  might  reap  delight.  Fool  that  I  was  !  I  reap  nothing 
but  the  reward  of  virtue!" 

She   la.ugh.ed   bitterly,   and   a   violent   burst  of  tears 


232  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

quenched  the  fire  in  her  brain.  She  threw  herself  down 
upon  the  lion's  skin,  unconsciously  representing  the  Ari- 
adne. 

"  Loveliest  of  women  !"  murmured  Herbert,  intoxicated 
by  the  sig^t.  "  Is  it  not  monstrous  that  such  a  woman 
should  mourn  over  an  unrequited  love  ?  Does  he  who 
could  withstand  such  charms  deserve  the  name  of  man  ? 
No,  most  certainly  not.  He  is  an  overstrained  pedant, 
the  type  of  a  German  Philister,  and  if  blind  nature  had 
not  endowed  him  with  the  head  of  a  Jove  and  the  form 
of  an  athlete,  the  Countess  Worronska  would  never  have 
wasted  a  tear  upon  him  !" 

"  Herbert,  you  shall- not  revile  him  !  You  cannot  know 
how  great  he  seems  to  me  in  thus  coldly  despising  my 
beauty,  as  though  he  might  choose  amongst  goddesses, — 
as  though  Olympus  were  around  him,  instead  of  this  in- 
significant town  tilled  with  ugly,  gossiping  women.  What 
a  lofty  ideal  must  have  filled  his  fancy, — an  ideal  with 
which  I  could  not  compete!  When  he  saw  me  first,  he 
did  not  know  this  Hartwich.  I  remember  how  cold  his 
eye  was  when  he  first  saw  me.  He  looked  at  me  with 
the  cool  gaze  of  an  anatomist.  And  it  was  always  so. 
Whenever  he  visited  my  husband,  he  always  treated  me 
with  the  strictest  formality.  Always  the  same  gentle, 
inviolable  repose, — the  same  calm  scrutiny  that  one  ac- 
cords to  a  fine  picture,  but  not  to  a  lovely  woman.  Oh, 
there  is  something  overpowering,  in  all  this,  for  a  woman 
used  to  seeing  all  men  at  her  feet  !"  She  sank  into  a 
gloomy  reverie.  At  last  she  seized  Herbert's  hand.  "  Her- 
bert, who  is  she  who  has  power  to  enchant  this  man  ? 
Is  all  contest  with  her  useless  ?  Must  I  resign  all 
hope  ?" 

Herbert,  as  if  electrified  by  her  touch,  whispered 
scarcely  audibly,  "  Will  you  grant  me  that  kiss  if  I 
show  you  how  to  annihilate  the  Hartwich  in  Mollner's 
eyes  ?" 

A  pause  ensued. 

"  It  is  my  only  price.     Without  it  I  am  dumb  " 

"  Well,  take  it,  then  !"  cried  the  countess,  driven  to  ex- 
tremity ;  and  she  held  up  to  him  her  lovely  lips. 

But,  as  Herbert  approached  her,  with  the  expression 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   TEE  SOUL.  233 

of  a  jackal  thirsting  for  his  prey,  disgust  overpowered 
the  haughty  woman,  and  she  thrust  the  slender  man  from 
her  so  violently  that  be  fell  to  the  ground.  She  was 
terrified, — perhaps  her  impetuosity  had  rained  everything. 
She  went  to  him  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Stand  up  and 
forgive  me." 

Herbert  stood  up,  pale  as  a  ghost,  with  sunken,  hag- 
gard eyes,  and  readjusted  his  dress,  disordered  by  his 
fall.  He  wiped  the  cold  drops  from  his  brow  with  his 
handkerchief,  and,  without  a  word,  took  up  his  hat. 

The  countess  regarded  his  proceedings  with  alarm. 
"  Herbert,"  she  said  with  a  forced  smile,  "are  you  angry 
with  me  for  being  so  rude  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  in  a  hoarse,  hollow  tone. 

She  held  out  her  hand,  but  he  did  not  take  it. 

"  Do  not  bear  malice  against  me.  I — I  am  too  deeply 
wounded.  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  doing." 

Herbert  was  silent.  He  shivered,  as  if  with  cold.  His 
look — the  expression  of  his  eyes — alarmed  the  countess 
more  and  more. 

"  Now  you  will  revenge  yourself  by  not  telling  me  how 
I  can  annihilate  the  Hartwich  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  not  tell  you?"  stammered  Herbert,  with 
blue  lips.  "I  keep  my  promises."  He  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  countess.  "  Make  the  Hartwich  your  friend, 
and  you  will  make  her  an  object  of  aversion  in  Mollner's 
eyes." 

The  countess  started;  her  terrible  glance  encountered 
Herbert's  look  of  hate.  They  stood  now  opposed  to  each 
other, — enemies  to  the  death, — the  effeminate  man  and 
the  masculine  woman.  She  had  offended  him  mortally, 
but  Herbert's  last  thrust  had  gone  home ;  and  softly, 
lightly  as  an  incorporeal  shade,  he  passed  from  the  room. 

When  the  countess  was  alone,  she  fell  upon  her  knees, 
as  though  utterly  crushed. 

"  Thus  outraged  Virtue  revenges  herself !  Artful  hypo- 
crite that  she  is  !  When  I  left  her,  she  gave  me  no  warn- 
ing,— I  sinned  unpunished, — and  now,  when  I  would 
return  to  her  repentant,  she  thrusts  me  from  her  with  a 
remorseless  '  Too  late  !'  Too  late ! — my  ships  are  burned 
behind  me,  and  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  advance, 

20* 


234  ONLY  A    GIRL  ; 

or  to  repent, — Repent?"  She  writhed  in  despair.  "No! 
O  Heaven,  take  pity  on  me, — I  am  still  too  young  and 
too  fair  for  that  1" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

EMANCIPATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT. 

HIGH  up  upon  the  platform  of  her  observatory,  fanned 
by  the  pure  night-breeze  and  bathed  in  starry  radiance, 
stood  Ernestine,  waiting  for  the  moon  to  rise.  On  her 
serious  brow  and  in  her  maidenly  soul  there  was  self- 
consecration,  and  peace.  The  heated  vapour  of  passion 
that  was  gathering  like  a  thunder-cloud  about  her  name 
in  the  world  beneath  her,  the  poisonous  slander  of  lips 
that  mentioned  her  only  to  defame  her,  could  not  ascend 
hither.  Unconscious,  assailed  by  no  sordid  temptations, 
she  stood  there  in  vestal  purity, — elevated  physically  but 
a  few  feet  from  the  earth,  but  soaring  in  mind  worlds 
above  it. 

Slowly  and  solemnly  the  moon's  disc  arose  from  the 
horizon  and  mounted  upwards,  lonely  and  quiet,  in  soft 
splendour.  Thousands  of  little  moons  were  reflected 
in  the  telescopes  of  astronomers  in  thousandfold  diver- 
sity of  aspect ;  but  they  were  all  images  of  the  one 
orb  slowly  sailing  through  the  air.  Ernestine  was  not 
busied  with  her  telescope,  for  no  mortal  quest  could  aid 
her  in  what  she  was  seeking  to-night.  It  was  to  be  found 
only  in  her  own  breast.  It  was  not  the  material,  but  the 
immaterial,  that  she  was  now  longing  to  grasp  ;  no  single 
sense  could  be  of  any  avail.  She  needed  all  the  powers 
of  her  being  harmoniously  co-operating.  And,  as  she 
gazed  there,  full  of  dreamy  inspiration,  it  was  as  if  the 
moon  had  paused  in  its  course  to  mirror  itself  in  those 
eyes.  Oh  that  we  could  die  when  and  as  we  choose! 
that  we  could  breathe  out  our  souls  in  a  single  sigh! 
No  human  being  could  pass  away  more  calmly  and  bliss- 
fully than  Ernestine  could  have  done  at  that  moment, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  235 

as  she  gazed  at  that  serene  moon  and  breathed  forth  a 
yearning  sigh  after  the  Unfathomable. 

Happiness,  pure  and  unspeakable,  descended  into  her 
soul  from  the  sparkling  canopy  of  night.  This  was  her 
holiday,  her  hour  of  enfranchisement  from  the  fetters  of 
toil  and  study.  She  was  alone  beneath  the  starry  sky, — 
a  lone  watcher,  while  all  around  were  sleeping, — thinking 
while  others  were  unconscious.  She  seemed  to  herself 
appointed  to  keep  guard  over  the  dignity  of  humanity, 
while  all  beside  were  sunk  in  slumber.  She  could  rest 
only  when  others  were  roused  to  consciousness.  The 
fever  of  night,  that  brings  remorse  to  so  many  tossing 
upon  restless  couches,  never  assailed  her.  All  earthly 
phantoms  recede  from  the  heart  bathed  in  starlight,  for 
in  that  light  there  is  peace.  In  view  of  immensity,  eter- 
nity is  revealed  to  us,  and  every  earthly  pain  vanishes 
like  a  shadow  before  it.  But  when  star  after  star  faded, 
and  the  moon  had  paled,  the  first  rosy  streak  of  dawn 
kissed  a  brow  pale  as  snow,  and  a  weariness  as  of  death 
assailed  her.  The  sacred  fire  of  her  soul  had  devoured 
her  bodily  strength  and  was  extinguished  with  it.  Then 
she  sank  to  rest  silently  and  uncomplainingly,  like  the 
lamps  of  night  at  the  approach  of  day.  So  it  was  at  this 
hour.  As  the  darkness  vanished,  she  descended  to  her 
apartments,  and  sought  in  brief  repose  the  strength  that 
would  suffice  for  a  day  of  constant  labour. 

"  The  more  time  I  spend  in  sleep,  the  less  of  life  do  I 
enjoy,"  she  said  in  answer  to  the  remonstrances  of  her  anx- 
ious attendant.  "  Everything  in  the  world  is  so  beautiful 
that  we  should  not  lose  one  moment  of  it, — so  short  a 
time  is  ours  to  enjoy  it." 

"Enjoy!  Good  heavens!  What  do  you  enjoy?  you 
do  nothing  but  work." 

"  That  is  my  enjoyment,  my  good  Willmers.  For  my 
work  is  nothing  less  than  the  constant  study  and  dis- 
covery of  the  beauties  of  the  world.  An  immortality 
would  not  suffice  to  enjoy  it  all, — and  what  can  we  accom- 
pli.-h  in  our  brief  span  of  existence?  Shall  we  curtail  it 
by  sleep  ?  Has  not  nature,  who  gives  us  eighty  years  of 
life,  robbed  us  of  almost  half  of  it  by  imposing  upon  us 
the  necessity  of  spending  from  seven  to  nine  hours  out 


236  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

of  the  twenty-four  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness  ?  I  will 
defy  her  as  long  as  I  can,  and  maintain  my  right  to  enjoy 
her  gift  as  I  please,  and  not  as  she  pleases." 

Frau  Williners  looked  with  intense  anxiety  at  the  pale 
cheeks  of  the  speaker.  As  she  lay  in  her  bed,  white  as 
the  snowy  draperies  around  her,  her  thin  hands  fallen 
wearied  upon  the  coverlet,  her  breath  coming  short  and 
quick,  the  faithful  servant's  heart  misgave  her ;  for  she 
saw  that  nature  had  already  begun  to  revenge  herself  for 
the  disobedience  of  her  laws.  She  covered  her  up  care- 
fully in  the  soft  coverlet.  "  Do  not  talk  any  more,  my 
dear  Fraulein  von  Hartwich, — you  are  worn  out." 

"  And  you  are  wearied  too,  my  good  Willmers.  Why 
do  you  rise  whenever  you  hear  me  going  to  bed?" 

"  Because  I  always  hope  that  I  may  force  you,  out  of 
consideration  for  me,  to  do  what  you  will  not  do  for  your- 
self,— retire  earlier  and  grant  yourself  the  repose  which 
is  needful  even  for  the  strongest  man, — how  much  more 
so  for  such  a  delicate  creature  as  you  are !" 

Ernestine  languidly  held  out  her  hand.  "  You  are 
kind  and  unselfish,  my  dear  Willmers,  but  you  cannot 
understand  me.  And,  if  you  will  insist  upon  sacrificing 
your  night's  rest  to  me,  I  must  give  you  a  room  at  a  dis- 
tance from  mine,  where  you  cannot  hear  what  I  am  doing. 
Thank  you  for  your  care.  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  replied  the  housekeeper  sadly,  delaying 
her  departure  for  a  moment  to  draw  the  curtains  closely 
around  Ernestine's  bed,  that  they  might  exclude  the  first 
golden  rays  of  sunlight. 

That  same  night  the  countess  spent  tossing,  like  one 
scourged  by  the  furies,  upon  her  restless  couch.  She 
could  hardly  wait  for  the  day  that  should  take  her  to  see 
her  rival,  and  the  same  rising  sun  that  filled  Ernestine's 
sleep  with  friendly  dreams, — for  even  in  slumber  the  eye 
is  conscious  of  light,  and  communicates  it  to  the  soul, — 
the  same  rising  sun  drove  the  tortured  woman  from  her 
silken  bed.  She  knew  no  weariness.  Her  healthy  phys- 
ical frame,  hardened  by  exercise,  withstood  every  attack 
of  weakness.  She  owned  no  restraint,  physically,  morally, 
or  mentally.  She  was  talented,  but  she  refused  to  think. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  237 

Thought  was  in  her  view  a  fetter  upon  self-indulgence. 
Knowledge  had  limits  which  those  who  knew  nothing 
were  unconscious  of.  She  would  be  free  as  the  air,  and 
therefore  avoided  everything  that  could  disturb  her  super- 
ficial security.  And  she  had  sufficient  intellect  to  feel 
that  thought  might  lead  to  conclusions  most  dangerous 
to  her  theory  of  life. 

"Man's  destiny  is  labour,  woman's  enjoyment."  This 
was  her  motto,  and  she  lived  up  to  it.  She  dazzled  the 
world  with  the  rare  spectacle  of  beautiful  power  and 
powerful  beauty  carrying  away  like  the  hurricane  in  its 
mad  career  whatever  lies  in  its  path,  stripping  the  leaves 
from  every  flower,  uprooting  every  young  tree,  and  bearing 
them  on  perhaps  for  one  moment  before  casting  them 
aside,  crushed  and  dying.  A  glorious  spectacle  for  ex- 
ultant Yalkyrias,  but  one  at  which  the  common  herd  cross 
themselves.  Every  destructive  force  of  nature — and  such 
was  this  woman — possesses  a  shuddering  poetic  attraction 
for  the  on-looker  who  is  himself  secure.  He  admires  what 
he  fears,  he  revels  in  the  sight  of  what  he  knows  to  be 
destructive.  This  was  the  position  held  by  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  little  town  of  N towards  the  beautiful 

Russian  since  she  had  arrived  there  with  her  sick  hus- 
band. With  her  wild  manner  of  life,  she  was  a  wonderful 
apparition  in  their  eyes,  a  constant  source  of  interest,  yet 
always  provoking  sternest  disapproval.  When  the  mag- 
nificent woman  galloped  through  the  streets  upon  her 
fiery  Arabian,  or  held  the  reins  behind  her  pair  of  horses 
with  a  skilful  hand,  like  Victory  in  her  triumphal  car,  no 
one  could  refrain  from  rushing  to  the  window  to  enjoy 
a  sight  not  to  be  forgotten.  Strength,  health,  and  beauty 
seemed  to  be  her  monopoly  and  the  firm  foundation  of 
her  joyous  existence. 

"  The  woman  who  desires  to  be  emancipated,"  she  was 
wont  to  say,  "must  have  the  true  stuff  in  her.  And  as 
there  are  so  few  who  possess  it,  there  are  but  a  few  who 
are  emancipated.  If  you  cannot  compete  with  a  man, 
do  not  try  to  rival  him.  But  she  who  has  been  baptized, 
as  I  have,  in  the  ice-cold  Neva,  can  afford  to  laugh  at 
the  whole  tribe  with  their  masculine  arrogance." 

In  Russia,  where  she  had  played  her  part  in  a  commu- 


238  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

nity  far  less  strict,  she  had  had  an  excellent  field  for  dis- 
playing her  grace  and  agility  in  all  knightly  exercises 
at  the  tilting-school  which  had  been  instituted  by  the 
Russian  nobility.  There  she  made  her  appearance  usually 
in  a  steel  helmet  and  closely-fitting  coat  of  mail  of  woven 
silver  that  shone  in  the  brilliant  sunlight,  enveloping 
her  as  it  were  in  splendour.  When  she  rode  into  the 
lists  thus  arrayed,  a  crooked  scimitar  by  her  side, 'pis- 
tols in  her  belt,  and  mounted  upon  her  Arabian  steed, 
nothing  could  restrain  the  loud  applause  of  all  present. 
She  rivalled  the  most  distinguished  sons  of  the  Russian 
nobility  in  the  grace  and  skill  with  which  she  managed 
her  horse,  the  precision  of  her  aim  in  shooting,  and  the 
boldness  of  her  leaps.  She  knew  no  fear  and  no  fatigue. 

She  had  the  strength  and  vigour  of  a  Northern  divinity, 
with  the  glowing  temperament  of  an  Oriental.  What 
wonder  that,  from  Emperor  to  serf,  all  were  her  admiring 
slaves  ? 

Her  father,  Alexei  Fedorowitsch,  was  a  poor  and  un- 
educated noble,  who  had  distinguished  himself  by  his 
bravery  in  the  war  with  Napoleon,  and,  invalided  at  its 
close,  retired  to  his  small  estate  in  the  country,  where  he 
lived  upon  his  pension.  His  wife,  a  sickly  aristocrat, 
who  had  condescended  to  marry  him  for  want  of  a  more 
desirable  parti,  was  the  torment  of  his  life.  In  despair 
at  the  trouble  and  annoyance  caused  by  his  wife's  delicate 
health,  sensibility,  and  affectation,  he  made  a  vow,  when 
she  bore  him  a  daughter,  to  educate  his  child  to  be  an 
utter  contrast  to  her  mother.  Better  that  the  child  should 
die  than  live  to  be  such  an  invalid  as  his  wife.  And  he 
began  by  causing  his  little  daughter  to  be  baptized,  like 
the  children  of  the  poorest  Russians  in  that  part  of  the 
country,  in  the  icy  waters  of  the  Neva.  The  little  Peodo- 
rowna  outlived  her  icy  bath,  and  her  entire  education  cor- 
responded with  this  beginning.  Her  mother  died  a  few 
days  after  this  cruel  baptism ;  anxiety  for  her  "child  put 
the  finishing  stroke  to  her  invalid  existence.  And  so  her 
rude,  uncultured  father  was  her  only  guide  and  in- 
structor. He  loved  her  after  his  fashion,  and  made  her 
his  companion  in  all  his  amusements,  riding,  training 
horses,  and  the  chase. 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  239 

She  was  scarcely  sixteen  when  he  married  her  to  a 
wealthy  landed  proprietor  in  the  neighbourhood,  ruder 
and  more  illiterate  even  than  himself,  and  to  the  girl  an 
object  of  aversion.  As  his  wife,  she  lived  on  his  lonely 
estate  like  a  serf. .  Her  husband  was  cruel  and  suspi- 
cious, and  made  her  married  life  perfect  torture.  She 
was  compelled  to  resign  her  free  habits  of  life,  which  she 
loved  better  than  all  else  in  the  world.  Every  extrav- 
agance, even  the  most  harmless,  was  forbidden  by  her 
husband.  The  joyous  girl  who  had  been  used  to  fly  upon 
the  back  of  her  spirited  steed  over  steppe  and  heath  was 
not  allowed  to  mount  a  horse,  but  was  made  to  sit  with 
her  maid-servants  and  spin  by  the  dim  light  of  a  train-oil 
lamp  until  her  husband  came  home  to  compel,  perhaps 
by  the  kantschu,  her  reluctant  attention  to  his  wishes. 
She  bore  this  martyrdom  for  one  year  in  silence.  At  last 
she  made  a  confidant  of  a  neighbouring  nobleman,  and  im- 
plored his  aid  in  her  great  need ;  but  she  found  no  sym- 
pathy,— no  assistance.  He  called  her  a  fool,  who  did  not 
appreciate  her  good  fortune, — told  her  that  to  think  of  a 
divorce  was  a  crime,  and  that  her  husband  was  perfectly 
right.  In  her  utter  loneliness,  longing  for  love,  if  it  were 
only  the  love  of  her  old  father,  a  desire  for  freedom  and 
hatred  of  her  tormentor  gained  the  victory,  and  she  fled, 
without  taking  anything  with  her  but  the  few  clothes  that 
she  had  possessed  at  her  marriage.  She  travelled  the 
greater  part  of  the  way  on  foot,  and  arrived  at  her  father's 
in  such  a  wretched  condition  that  he  was  touched  by  com- 
passion, received  her  kindly,  and  took  her  part  against  her 
husband.  Her  suit  for  divorce  left  her  wholly  without 
means,  but  free,  and  when  shortly  afterwards  she  came  to 
know  the  old  diplomat  Count  Worrouska,  and  he  laid  his 
rank  and  his  millions  at  her  feet,  offering  a  field  for  her 
beautjMit  court  at  St.  Petersburg,  she  could  not  withstand 
the  temptation.  She  became  his  wife,  and  was  transplanted 
from  the  midst  of  half-savage  serfs  to  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  courts  in  the  world, — from  the  Russian  forests 
and  steppes  to  apartments  gorgeous  with  every  luxury  of 
life.  At  first  dazzled  and  confused,  she  won  all  hearts, 
even  those  of  the  women,  by  her  innocent  beauty  and 
graceful  diffidence.  Avt  last  her  unbridled  nature  broke 


240  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

forth  all  the  more  impetuously  for  the  long  restraint  under 
which  it  had  lain,  and,  with  no  guidance  but  that  of  her 
imbecile  husband,  who  adored  her,  she  rapidly  degener- 
ated in  every  way.  Society  always  looks  more  leniently 
upon  those  errors  that  are  gradually  developed  before  its 
eyes  and  under  its  protection  than  upon  those  that  it  ob- 
serves outside  of  its  sphere,  because  it  is  cognizant  of 
the  excuse  for  the  faults  of  those  within  it,  and  it  was  all 
the  more  willing  to  pardon  the  delinquent  in  this  instance 
for  the  sake  of  the  high  rank  of  her  husband.  It  there- 
fore ignored  escapades  that  the  distinguished  position 
held  by  the  old  count  forbade  it  to  punish,  and  the  beauti- 
ful and  enormously  wealthy  Countess  Worronska,  in  spite 
of  her  dissipation,  was  and  continued  to  be  the  centre  of 
the  most  brilliant,  if  not  the  best,  circle  of  society  in  St. 
Petersburg.  All  this  she  had  resigned  for  the  last  six 
months,  and  she  had  lived  like  an  outlaw,  avoided  by 

prudent  "  German  Philisters,"  in  the  town  of  N ,  for 

the  sake  of  the  only  man  whom  she  truly  loved,  and  who 
— despised  her. 

Before  the  death  of  her  husband  she  had  always  been 
surrounded  by  a  brilliant  crowd  of  gentlemen  who  had 
sought  her  society  from  the  neighbouring  famous  baths, — 
acquaintances  from  St.  Petersburg,  distinguished  Eng- 
lishmen, Italians,  Poles, — in  short,  the  gay,  wealthy 
idlers  of  every  nation  that  invariably  flock  around  a  beau- 
tiful woman  upon  her  travels.  With  these  she  smoked, 
rode,  and  drove, — proceedings  that  had  excited  no  out- 
cry in  the  gay  world  at  St.  Petersburg,  but  that  called  forth 
shrieks  of  horror  from  the  women  in  the  little  German  Uni- 
versity-town and  greatly  excited  the  students,  who  were 
never  weary  of  caricaturing  her, — harnessing  four  horses, 
and,  disguised  as  women,  driving  them  wildly  through 
the  streets,  mimicking  her  foreign  admirers,  making  her 
1  x-arded  servants  drunk,  and  playing  many  other  rnad- 
c;ip  pranks  in  ridicule  of  her. 

The  universal  horror  culminated,  however,  when  she 
did  not  dress  in  black  after  the  count's  death.  People 
said  with  a  shudder  that  she  had  declared  that  "  it  seemed 
l<>  her  despicable  to  play  such  a  farce,  and  simulate  a 
grief  that  she  did  not  feel."  How  could  any  one  so  scorn 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  241 

conventionalities,  and  lay  bare  the  secrets  of  the  heart  to 
the  public  gaze  ?  Yes,  it  was  even  suggested  that  she 
had  never  been  married,  and  they  called  her  the  "wild 
countess," — much  as  we  speak  of  wild  fruit  to  distin- 
guish them  from  those  that  are  genuine.  Although 
injustice  was  done  her  in  this  respect,  she  deserved  the 
epithet  "wild"  in  every  other,  and  the  name  clave  to 
her.  Even  Mollner,  who  was  always  ready  to  find 
some  magnanimous  excuse  for  feminine  failings,  thought 
that  she  ought  to  show  more  respect  for  her  septuagena- 
rian husband,  and  pronounced  her  conduct  heartless  osten- 
tation. From  that  moment  she  lost  all  interest,  if  she 
had  ever  possessed  any,  in  his  eyes.  He  never  noticed 
that  for  months  no  gentleman  had  been  allowed  to  enter 
her  doors,  for  he  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  observe 
her  actions.  Whoever  did  observe  it  ascribed  it  to  chance. 
The  report  of  her  improvement  was  drowned  jfi  the  bil- 
lows of  scandal  that  had  been  lashed  up  by  her  previous 
conduct.  No  one  believed  in  her  reformation,  least  of  all 
he  for  whom  she  made  such  sacrifices. 

And  now  the  moment  had  arrived  when,  for  the  first 
time,  she  found  herself  helpless,  opposed  to  a  higher 
power, — and  the  effect  of  this  first  collision  with  invisible 
barriers  upon  the  untrained  heart  of  the  countess  was 
terrible.  Hitherto  she  had  recognized  only  the  laws  of 
decorum,  and  had  transgressed  them  with  impunity 
whenever  they  had  oppressed  her.  Decorum  is  almost 
always  subject  to  the  will  of  individuals  and  to  fashion. 
But  the  higher  law  that  hovers  over  the  universe,  sub- 
ject to  no  human  will,  to  no  change, — unchangeable,  as  is 
all  that  is  divine, — is  the  law  of  morality.  It  was  this 
against  which  the  countess  was  now  struggling,  of  the 
existence  of  which  she  seemed  now  first  to  become  aware. 

But  such  a  woman  could  not  give  up  the  battle.  It 
was  a  law  of  her  nature  to  resist.  She  could  not  yield. 
How  could  she  ? — she  had  never  learned  submission.  She 
would  battle  for  her  desires.  As  a  girl,  she  had  endured 
hunger  and  cold  for  days  in  the  pursuit  of  the  chase, 
while  food  and  warmth  waited  for  her  at  home.  From 
her  earliest  childhood,  her  will  had  been  trained  to  iron 
persistence,  and  now,  when  she  had  again  left  the  eoui- 

21 


242  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

forts  and  delights  of  home  in  pursuit  of  a  far  nobler  prey, 
should  she  desist  from  the  chase  because  the  game  be- 
longed to  another  ?  Such  a  course  was  impossible  for 
such  a  woman,  and,  as  strength  could  not  avail  her  here, 
she  resorted  to  the  commonest  weapon  of  the  merest 
llirt, — cunning. 

Herbert's  malice  contained  a  seed  that  swiftly  ripened 
and  bore  fruit  in  the  fertile  brain  of  the  countess,  for  she 
knew  only  too  well  how  much  truth  there  was  in  the 
charge  that  her  friendship  was  a  dishonour  to  a  young 
girl.  It  was  a  terrible  thought  for  her  that  there  was 
no  means  left  for  her  whereby  she  could  crush  a  rival 
except  by  so  poisoning  her  with  her  own  infection  that 
she  might  become  an  object  of  disgust  to  her  lover.  But, 
if  she  could  gain  nothing  by  such  a  course,  she  could 
at  least  revenge  herself.  She  turned  over  the  leaves  of 
Ernestine's  publications.  They  were  too  learned  for  her. 
She  understood  nothing  from  their  pages,  except  that  they 
contended  for  the  emancipation  of  women, — that  was 
enough  for  her.  She  too  was  "emancipated."  It  was 
enough  to  establish  an  understanding  between  them. 
Perhaps  a  meeting  with  Mollner  might  grow  out  of  a 
visit  to  Ernestine.  She  was  determined  to  make  use  of 
Herbert's  malicious  hint,  his  last  bequest  to  her;  for  she 
had  mortally  offended  him,  and  he  no  longer  came  near 
her.  She  hastily  studied  a  few  papers  upon  the  emanci- 
pation of  women,  that  she  might  comprehend  what  Her- 
bert had  said  of  "principle"  in  connection  with  the  sub- 
ject, and  this  was  the  day  upon  which  she  was  resolved 
to  see  her  victim.  She  selected  Wednesday  for  her  ex- 
pedition, because  Herbert  had  told  her  that  Mollner  had 
been  with  Ernestine  on  the  previous  Wednesday.  Per- 
haps his  visit  might  be  repeated  on  the  same  day  of  the 
week. 

As  soon  as  she  rose,  she  blew  a  shrill  whistle  upon  a 
little  silver  call.  There  instantly  appeared — not  a  dog — 
a  maid  with  a  large  bucket  of  spring-water,  which  was 
dashed  over  her  beautiful  mistress  in  a  little  bathing- 
tent. 

The  maid  then  silently  withdrew,  and  brought  coffee  and 
the  newspapers.  The  countess,  wrapped  in  a  rich  brocade 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  243 

dressing-gown,  lighted  a  cigar,  and,  while  drinking  her 
coffee,  looked  carelessly  through  the  papers. 

Afterwards  she  went  to  her  dressing-room,  and  called 
to  the  dressing-maid  in  attendance  there,  "Riding-habit!" 
and,  after  a  short  delay,  the  maid  brought  her  all  she  re- 
quired. "Ali!"  said  the  countess,  which  meant,  "Go 
tell  the  groom  to  saddle  Ali  for  me." 

The  brief  order  was  understood  and  obeyed  with 
rapidity.  Like  a  shadow  the  attendant  glided  from  the 
room,  appearing  again  like  a  shadow  in  the  presence  of 
her  dreaded  mistress.  The  servants  of  this  woman  must 
have  neither  mind,  soul,  nor  heart, — only  ears  to  hear, 
and  hands  and  feet  to  obey.  The  poor  dressing-maid  did 
her  best  to  fulfil  all  that  was  required  of  her, — she  was  all 
ear,  hands,  and  feet.  She  scarcely  breathed.  It  really 
seemed  as  if  the  powerful  lungs  of  her  mistress  inhaled 
all  the  air  of  the  apartment,  leaving  none'for  any  other 
inmate. 

She  took  her  place  behind  the  countess,  who  sat  before 
the  mirror,  smoking,  and  began,  as  carefully  as  possible, 
to  comb  out  her  long  hair.  The  lovely  woman  examined 
her  own  features  critically  to-day.  One  peculiarity  of 
her  face,  otherwise  faultless, — a  peculiarity  that  reminded 
her  of  the  Russian  type, — irritated  her  excessively ;  she 
thought  her  cheek-bones  somewhat  too  high. 

Just  as  she  was  contemplating  this  imaginary  defect, 
the  maid  slightly  pulled  her  hair.  It  was  too  much  for 
her  patience. 

"  Maschinka  1"  she  cried,  starting  up  and  snatching  the 
comb  from  the  poor  girl's  hand.  A  flash — a  blow — and 
Maschinka  stooped  silently  to  pick  up  the  pieces  of  the 
broken  comb.  The  print  of  its  teeth  was  left  upon  her 
pale  cheek,  but  no  word,  no  cry  of  pain,  escaped  her  lips, 
— her  eyes  alone  looked  tearful. 

"  Get  another  !"  ordered  her  mistress,  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  and  she  sat  down  again. 

Maschinka  obeyed,  and  finished  the  coiffure,  and  the 
rest  of  the  toilette,  without  further  disaster.  Then  she 
brought  riding-whip,  hat,  and  gloves,  and  the  countess 
descended  the  richly- carpeted  stairs.  Suddenly  she 
stood  still,  and  called,  "Maschinka!" 


244  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"Madame!" 

"  Does  your  cheek  hurt  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !"  whispered  the  girl. 

"What?  Don't  lie!  Well,  then,  rub  it  with  cold  cream, 
from  the  silver  box  on  my  dressing-table;  and  keep  the 
box, — I  give  it  to  you." 

Without  listening  to  the  girl's  thanks,  she  passed  on. 
Her  magnificent  Arabian  was  led,  snorting  and  foaming, 
around  the  court-yard.  She  beckoned  to  the  stout,  bearded 
Russian,  who  could  scarcely  restrain  it,  and  he  led  it 
towards  her.  Another  servant,  in  a  rich  livery,  brought 
sugar  upon  a  silver  plate.  She  fed  the  noble  animal,  who 
was  instantly  soothed,  kissed  its  smooth  forehead,  patted 
its  neck,  and"  mounted  lightly  to  her  place  upon  its  back. 

"  What  o'clock?"  she  asked,  as  the  servant  handed  her 
the  whip,  and  she  rose  in  the  stirrup  to  arrange  the  folds 
of  her  dress. 

"  Past  five  o'clock,  madame,"  was  the  answer. 

"  I  shall  return  at  eight.  The  carriage  must  be  ready 
by  twelve.  Tell  Maschinka  to  have  my  dress  prepared." 

"As  madame  pleases,"  replied  the  servant. 

"  Open  !"  cried  the  countess,  and  a  third  groom,  who 
had  been  waiting  for  this  order,  threw  open  the  double 
gates  of  the  court-yard,  letting  in  a  flood  of  morning  sun- 
light. Ali  reared  beneath  his  lovely  burden,  as  if  he 
would  soar  with  her  into  the  clouds,  but  a  quick  cut  from 
her  whip  somewhat  cooled  his  Pegasus  ardour,  and  he 
sprang  forward,  almost  running  over  a  servant,  who  had 
not  moved  aside  quite  quickly  enough,  and  gained  the 
street.  Here,  however,  his  mistress  reined  him  in. 

"  The  dogs  !"  she  called. 

The  servants  all  hurried  into  the  court-yard,  and  a 
frightful  noise  was  heard.  The  barking,  howling  pack 
came  rushing  from  their  kennels,  and  leaped  around  their 
mistress  with  all  the  signs  of  dcliglit  that  their  mad 
gambols  can  evince.  And  now  a  wild  race  began.  Away 
tore  the  Arabian,  tossing  the  foam  from  his  mouth.  As 
he  flew  rather  than  galloped  along,  he  tossed  back  his 
head,  pointed  his  ears,  and  distended  his  nostrils,  striv- 
ing to  outstrip  the  yelling  pack  at  his  heels.  The  beau- 
tiful hounds  followed  hard  behind,  in  long  leaps.  The 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  245 

servants  stood  grouped  about  the  gateway,  looking  after 
their  mistivs.-. 

"Aha,"  muttered  the  chief  among  them  to  himself, 
"  she  is  turning  into  the  Bergstrasse.  The  dogs  must 
waken  Professor  Mollner  again,  and  bring  him  to  the 
window." 

But  the  bearded  old  Russian  observed  sadly,  "  She'll 
break  her  neck  some  day." 

Peaceful,  and  buried  in  slumber,  lay  the  quiet  little 
town.  The  windows, — eyes  of  the  bouses, — were  closed, 
as  were  those  of  their  inmates  ;  but,  as  the  countess 
dashed  by  in  her  mad  career,  one  after  another  was 
opened,  a  curtain  drawn  aside  here  and  there,  and  a 
sleepy,  curious  face  appeared. 

The  countess  laughed  at  the  crop  of  night-capped 
heads  which  her  ride  past  their  windows  suddenly 
caused  to  appear.  The  warm-blooded  Arabian  shivered 
beneath  her  in  the  fresh,  dewy  morning  air,  and  she  felt 
its  bracing  breath  colour  her  cheek.  "  What  a  miserable 
race  is  this,  that  spends  such  hours  in  bed!  They  rise 
only  when  the  smoke  from  the  chimneys  and  the  weary 
sighs  of  labourers  have  thickened  the  air.  That  is  the 
atmosphere  for  their  delicate  lungs  !  They  are  afraid  of 
the  cold  breeze  of  dawn  !" 

She  passed  by  Herbert's  dwelling,  and,  with  a  vigor- 
ous stroke  of  her  whip,  excited  her  dogs  to  a  more  furi- 
ous barking.  How  should  she  know  that  his  invalid  wife, 
in  that  upper  chamber,  had  just  fallen  into  a  refreshing 
slumber  after  a  wakeful  night  of  pain,  a  slumber  from 
which  the  noise  aroused  her  to  a  day  of  suffering  ? 

Here,  too,  a  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  and  Elsa's  dream- 
encircled  head  peeped  out. 

"  That  is  his  monkey-faced  sister,"  thought  the  count- 
ess, and  nodded  in  very  wantonness.  The  face  van- 
ished in  alarm.  Herbert  did  not  appear.  And  she  gal- 
loped on  through  the  silent  streets.  It  was  wearisome 
riding  thus  upon  stony  pavements,  with  a  sleeping  public 
all  around,  her  only  spectators  the  servants  and  peas- 
ants carrying  milk  and  bread,  and  staring  open-mouthed 
at  the  haughty  horsewoman.  Now  and  then  a  student 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  brush  or  sponge  in  hand,  would  appear 
'  21* 


246  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

at  a  window,  and  one  poured  out  the  contents  of  his  wash- 
basin upon  her  dogs,  who  had  fallen  fiercely  upon  an  in- 
nocent little  cur  that  was  just  taking  his  morning  stroll. 
It  was  the  only  incident  that  varied  the  monotony  of 
her  ride,  and  she  passed  swiftly  on  towards  the  Berg- 
strasse,  as  the  servant  had  prophesied. 

At  last  she  reached  it,  and  the  glorious  view  of  the 
distant  mountains  lay  before  her.  The  rough  pavement 
came  to  an  end,  for  here  the  pleasure-grounds  of  the  town 
were  laid  out,  and  the  roads  were  strewn  with  fine  gravel. 
She  now  gave  her  steed  the  rein,  and  the  fiery  beast  flew 
along,  venire  d  terre,  with  the  pack  after  him  in  full  cry. 
The  houses  were  all  surrounded  by  charming  gardens. 
There  was  one  which  for  a  long  time  riveted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  countess.  Look  !  there  was  an  open  win- 
dow, and  at  it  stood  Mollner,  gazing  out  upon  the  far- 
off  mountains. 

Just  as  the  countess  passed,  he  observed  her,  and  an- 
swered her  gesture  of  recognition  by  a  respectful  bow. 

He  looked  after  her,  well  pleased  as  he  marked  the 
finely-knit  figure,  with  a  seat  in  the  saddle  so  light  and 
graceful  that  she  seemed  part  of  her  horse.  She  turned 
her  head  and  saw  him  looking  after  her,  and  in  her  plea- 
sure at  the  sight  she  reined  in  Ali  until  he  reared  erect 
in  the  air  and  curveted  proudly.  Then  on  she  galloped, 
and  was  soon  lost  to  sight.  She  had  reached  the  foot 
of  the  mountains,  and,  allowing  her  panting  steed  to 
ascend  a  little  hill  more  slowly,  she  paused  to  rest  him 
on  the  summit. 

Before  her  lay  a  golden,  sunny  world.  It  was  an  en- 
chanting morning.  Thin,  vapoury  smoke  was  begin- 
ning to  rise  from  the  chimneys,  and  the  heavens  were 
so  cloudless  that  it  ascended  straight  into  the  blue  arch 
without  being  pressed  down  to  the  earth  again. 

Over  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees  that  crowned  the  brows 
of  the  mountains,  little  white  feathery  clouds  were  still 
hovering.  It  seemed  as  if  those  mighty  heads  would 
fain  shake  them  off,  for  they  soared  aloft  and  then  set- 
tled again,  then  shifted  from  place  to  place,  hiding  some- 
times in  the  forest,  until  at  last  they  vanished  before  the 
increasing  power  of  the  sun's  rays,  and  the  dark,  jagged 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  247 

outline  of  the  mountains  stood  out  clear  and  free  against 
the  blue  sky.  Who,  with  a  heart  in  his  breast,  beholding 
and  enjoying  all  this  beauty  and  glory,  does  not  involun- 
tarily look  above  in  gratitude  to  the  unseen  Giver  and 
mourn  over  his  own  unworthiness  of  such  bounty  ?  And 
how  many  eyes  look  on  it  all  without  understanding  it  or 
rejoicing  in  it !  Does  it  not  seem  that  on  such  a  morning 
the  most  degraded  soul  would  gladly  purify  itself,  as  the 
bird  dresses  his  feathers  at  sunrise  before  he  lifts  his 
wings  to  soar  aloft  into  the  glorious  ether  ? 

And  yet  the  gloomy  fire  of  the  previous  night  still 
smouldered  on  in  the  countess's  breast,  and  no  cool  breeze, 
no  pearly  dew,  availed  to  quench  its  unhallowed  glow. 
Her  heart  was  desecrated, — the  abode  of  the  demons  of 
low  desire  and  hate.  It  could  no  longer  soar  to  higher 
spheres.  The  beautiful  woman  gazed  upon  the  land- 
scape without  one  feeling  of  its  beauty.  She  was  far 
more  interested  in  compelling  the  obedience  of  her  impa- 
tient steed  than  in  the  grand  prospect  before  her.  In  the 
gilded  saloons  of  St.  Petersburg  she  had  lost  all  compre- 
hension and  love  of  nature,  and  she  was  so  accustomed 
to  consider  herself  a  divinity  that  she  was  no  longer  con- 
scious of  the  humility  of  the  creature  before  its  Creator. 
Although  she  might  not  deny  Him,  she  was  indifferent 
to  Him,  and  if  she  sometimes  visited  His  temple,  she  did 
it  only  as  one  pays  a  formal  visit  to  an  equal. 

Thus  she  stood  there  upon  the  hill,  inhaling  the  fresh, 
fragrant  air  with  a  certain  satisfaction,  but  with  no  more 
interest  in  the  lovely  scene  than  was  felt  by  her  dogs, 
who  judged  of  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  chiefly  by  their 
sense  of  smell,  as,  lying  on  the  ground  around  their  mis- 
tress, they  too  snuffed  the  morning  breeze.  Now  and 
then  one  was  led  astray  by  the  scent  of  game  in  the 
thicket ;  but  a  call  from  the  silver  whistle  of  his  mistress 
reminded  him  of  his  duty,  and  he  returned  to  his  com- 
panions,— only  casting  longing  looks  in  the  direction  in 
which  his  prey  had  escaped  him.  Had  his  haughty  mis- 
tress ever  in  her  life  practised  such  self-denial  ?  Could  she 
have  seriously  answered  this  question,  she  might  have 
blushed  before  the  unreasoning  brute. 

******* 


248  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  Ernestine  stepped  out  upon 
her  balcony.  Gaily-dressed  peasants  were  passing,  pipe 
in  mouth,  along  the  road  outside  her  garden-wall,  for  to- 
day was  the  Ascension  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, — a  glori- 
ous opportunity  for  drinking  to  her  honour  and  glory. 
The  people  were  in  their  gayest  humour,  their  morning 
libations  had  already  had  some  effect.  The  peasant 
seems  to  know  no  better  way  of  giving  God  glory  than 
by  enjoying  His  gifts  ;  he  believes  that  he  thus  affords 
Him  the  same  pleasure  that  a  good  host  feels  in  seeing 
the  guests  at  his  table  enjoy  what  is  placed  before  them. 

Ernestine  smiled  at  the  thought  of  this  profane  belief, 
which  nevertheless  springs  from  honest,  childlike  traits 
of  human  nature. 

Leuthold  had  not  yet  returned  from  his  journey,  and 
these  days  of  solitude  had  been, — she  never  asked  herself 
why, — the  pleasantest  that  she  had  known  for  a  long  time. 
She  did  in  his  absence  only  what  she  was  used  to  do 
when  he  was  with  her ;  but  her  thoughts  were  very  dif- 
ferent. The  man  had  so  thoroughly  imbued  with  his 
teaching  her  every  thought  and  action,  that  when  he  was 
by  she  could  not  even  think  what  he  might  disapprove. 
Since  his  departure  she  had,  if  we  may  use  the  expres- 
sion, let  herself  alone.  She  allowed  her  thoughts  to  stray 
as  they  pleased.  She  was  not  ashamed  to  spring  up 
from  her  work  and  feed  the  birds,  or  to  spend  an  hour  in 
the  garden,  or  at  the  window  in  dreamy  reverie.  And 
she  made  various  scientific  experiments,  that  she  might 
surprise  her  uncle  upon  his  return  with  their  successful 
results. 

And  this  was  not  the  only  advantage  of  his  absence. 
She  could  go  to  the  school-house  to  see  the  good  old  peo- 
ple there  ;  she  could — receive  a  visit ! — a  visit  of  which 
her  uncle  knew  nothing.  Was  that  right  ?  Oh,  yes,  it 
was  right, — it  was  too  sacred  a  thing  to  be  exposed  to 
his  cool  contempt.  Why  was  he  so  dry  and  cold  and 
stern,  that  she  must  conceal  every  emotion  from  him  ? 
To  have  told  him  of  this  visit  would  have  been  like  vol- 
untarily exposing  her  roses  to  be  frozen  by  ice  and  snow. 
She  still  remembered  and  felt  the  pain  that  he  had  made 
her  suffer  when  she  spoke  to  him  of  God.  Then  he  had 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  249 

taken  her  God  from  her,  and  now  he  would  take  from 
her  her  friend, — the  first,  the  only  one  she  had  ever 
known.  It  was  the  pure,  sacred  secret  of  her  heart, — as 
pure  and  sacred  as  the  communion  she  held  with  the 
starry  heavens  at  night  upon  her  observatory. 

Meanwhile  the  door  had  opened  without  her  notice, 
and  the  JEolian  harp  sounded  in  the  draught  that  swept 
across  its  strings.  The  birds,  that  had  hopped  close 
around  her  for  their  accustomed  food,  flew  twittering 
away  as  a  stranger  appeared,  and  a  deep,  mellow  voice 
asked,  "  Well,  and  how  are  you  ?" 

Ernestine  started  as  at  a  lightning-flash.  She  turned 
and  looked  at  the  intruder  with  a  deep  blush,  but  with 
undisguised  delight 

"  Why  should  you  be  startled  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know, — you  appeared  so  suddenly.  I  did 
not  see  you  coming  down  the  road." 

"  No,  I  took  a  cross-cut  that  was  shadier ;  I  came  on 
foot." 

"  Oh,  then  you  must  be  tired !"  said  Ernestine,  enter- 
ing the  room  with  him.  "  Sit  down." 

"  My  dear  Fraulein  Hartwich,  first  shake  hands  with 
me, — there!  And  now  tell  me  that  you  have  quite  for- 
given me, — you  do  not  think  ill  of  me." 

"No,  sir, — doctor! — Can  I  call  you  doctor?  We  give 
names  to  everything,  why  should  you  be  the  exception  ?" 
And  she  smiled. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  seen  her  smile,  and  it 
enchanted  him. 

"  If,  then,  it  is-so  hard  not  to  call  me  by  name,  christen 
me  yourself.  There  are  kindly  titles  invented  by  friend- 
ship or  good  will.  Am  I  not  worthy,  in  your  stern  sight, 
of  any  of  these?" 

"  Oh,  none  that  I  could  find  would  be  worthy  of  you, 
you  are  so  kind,  so — oh,  yes!  I  have  a  title  for  you!" 

"Well?     I  am  curious." 

"  Kind  sir  ! — will  you  allow  that?" 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Friiuleiu  Hartwich,  it  is  you  who  are 
too  kind." 

Ernestine  smiled  again.  A  fleeting  blush  tinged  her 
cheek. 


250  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Johannes  looked  at  her.  "  Do  you  know  that  you 
seem  much  more  cheerful  than  when  I  saw  you  last  ?" 

"  Thanks  to  your  skill,  kind  sir." 

"  Indeed  ? — spite  of  my  bitter  physic  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  did  taste  bitter,  but  good  followed  it." 

"  Then  you  felt  the  truth  of  what  I  said  ?" 

She  grew  grave.  "  No,  not  that, — but  I  recognized  a 
true,  large  heart,  and  admiration  for  that  conquered  my 
ailment, — delight  in  its  sympathy  overcame  the  pain  of 
being  misunderstood  by  it." 

"  That  is  more  than  I  ventured  to  hope,  after  so  short 
an  acquaintance.  Were  you  less  magnanimous  than  you 
are,  you  would  hate  me,  for  I  deeply  wounded  your 
vanity,  and,  to  be  frank,  I  propose  to  do  so  still  further." 

"  Not  a  pleasant  prospect,  but  I  will  be  steadfast.  If 
you  deny  me  the  strength  of  a  man,  you  shall  at  least 
not  find  me  subject  to  women's  weaknesses, — among 
which  I  hold  vanity  to  be  the  most  despicable." 

Johannes  smiled.  "And  yet  you  are  not  free  from 
this  weakness.  You  endure  my  assaults  upon  your  pride 
because  it  gratifies  your  vanity  to  prove  that  you  are  not 
vain." 

Ernestine  cast  down  her  eyes.  "You  are  clever  at 
diagnosis,"  she  said  with  slight  bitterness. 

"  1  am  only  honest.  Do  you  not  see  that  I  know, 
since  you  have  received  me  so  kindly  to-day,  that  it 
would  be  quite  possible  to  win  your  further  confidence 
and  esteem  if  I  would  only  have  a  little  consideration 
for  your  weaknesses  ?  Let  me  confess  frankly  that  a 
confidence  so  purchased  would  not  content  me.  Trifling 
and  jesting  may  have  deceit  for  their  foundation,  for  one 
will  last  no  longer  than  the  other,  but  the  regard  that  I 
cherish  for  you,  and  that  I  would  awaken  in  you  for  me, 
must — can — be  founded  only  in  the  truth, — must  grow 
out  of  the  inmost  core  of  our  natures  ;  and  if  our  natures 
do  not  harmonize,  any  intimate  relation  between  us  is 
impossible,  and  an  artificial  tie  between  us  would  be,  for 
us,  a  sin.  If,  then,  my  ruthless  hand  searches  the  hidden 
depths  of  your  soul, — if  I  outrage  your  vanit}T,  so  that 
even  the  vanity  of  being  magnanimously  self-forgetting 
will  not  help  you  to  endure  it, — I  only  fulfil  a  sacred  duty 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  251 

that  truth  requires  of  me,  both  to  you  and  to  myself, — a 
duty  whose  postponement  might  be  heavily  avenged  in 
the  future." 

Ernestine  looked  at  him  inquiringly.  She  did  not  un- 
derstand him. 

"You  are  puzzled,  and  do  not  know  how  to  interpret 
my  words,"  he  continued.  "  You  cannot  dream  how  far 
beyond  reality  my  fancy  soars.  But  you  must  feel  that 
I  am  not  a  man  to  play  the  bel-esprit  for  my  amusement, — 
to  find  any  satisfaction  in  measuring  my  wits  to  advan- 
tage with  a  woman's, — to  take  delight  in  hearing  the  sound 
of  my  own  voice.  Before  I  seriously  approach  a  woman, 
I  must  be  clear  in  my  own  mind  as  to  what  I  can  be  to 
her  and  she  to  me.  You,  Friiulein  von  Hartwich,  cannot 
be  to  me  much  or  little, — you  can  be  to  me  everything  or 
nothing.  Our  natures  are  both  too  real  to  admit  of  our 
passing  each  other  by  pleasantly,  politely,  but  without 
enthusiasm,  like  ephemeral  acquaintances  in  society.  We 
have  already,  in  defiance  of  conventional  rules,  formed 
an  intimacy  in  which  character  is  revealed,  and  the 
aim  of  our  intercourse  must  be  a  higher  one  than  that  of 
mere  amusement.  Otherwise  I  were  a  boor  and  you  are 
greatly  to  blame  for  enduring  me.  Only  a  deep  personal 
interest  in  you  could  warrant  my  relentless  treatment  of 
y.ou.  I  acknowledge  that  I  feel  this  deep  personal  in- 
terest. More  I  will  not  say  now,  for  all  else  depends 
upon  the  development  of  our  relations  towards  each 
other,  in  the  increase  or  decrease  of  accord  in  our  views 
of  life  and  its  purposes." 

Ernestine  was  silent.  She  began  to  have  some  suspi- 
cion of  what  she  might  be  to  this  strong,  upright  char- 
acter, and  what  he  might  be  to  her  But  it  was  not  that 
tender  emotion  that  the  first  approach  of  love  awakens 
in  the  heart  of  every  woman,  even  the  coldest ;  she  was 
troubled  and  anxious.  The  decision  with  which  he  spoke 
convinced  her  at  once  that  he  never  could  be  converted 
to  her  views, — that  she  must  mould  herself  according  to 
his, — that  a  transformation  must  take  place  in  one  or  the 
other  of  them,  if  she  would  not  lose  what  was  already  of 
such  value  to  her.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  self-sacri- 
fice, for  her  cunning  uncle  had  so  educated  her,  so  trained 


252  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

her  inclinations  to  accord  with  his  Avishes,  that  she  al- 
ways supposed  she  was  having'  her  own  way,  when  in 
reality  she  was  following  his.  She  felt  that  this  hour 
was  a  crisis  in  her  life,  that  she  was  brought  into  con- 
tact with  a  will  which  would  require  of  her  great  self- 
sacrifice,  and  of  which  she  was  almost  in  dread,  because 
it  was  backed  by  superior  strength. 

Johannes  waited  for  an  answer,  but  none  came.  He 
saw  what  was  going  on  in  Ernestine's  mind,  and  that  his 
words  had  chilled  her,  kindly  as  they  were  meant.  He 
took  her  hand  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  "Ah,  you  will 
not  call  me  '  kind  sir'  any  more  ?" 

Ernestine  was  conscious  of  the  true  kindliness  of  his 
look,  she  felt  the  gentle  clasp  of  his  hand,  and  involun- 
tarily she  held  out  to  him  her  disengaged  hand  also,  and 
said  almost  in  a  tone  of  entreaty,  "  No,  you  will  not  be 
cruel,  you  will  not  hurt  me." 

He  stood  silent  for  an  instant,  looking  into  her  clear, 
confiding  eyes,  holding  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  was 
for  the  moment  unspeakably  happy. 

"  I  promise  you  I  will  not  give  you  more  pain  than 
I  shall  suffer  myself,"  he  said  gently.  "  But  we  must 
buy  dearly  the  happiness  that  is  to  content  us.  We  are 
not  of  those  who  innocently  and  artlessly  take  upon  trust 
whatever  the  present  throws  into  their  laps.  Constituted 
as  we  are,  we  must  needs  make  conditions  with  Heaven, 
and  accept  its  gifts  only  when  we  have  proved  them. 
For  we  cannot  be  satisfied  with  what  many  would  call 
happiness, — we  can  take  no  delight  in  Avhat  would  charm 
thousands  of  others.  It  is  the  curse  of  natures  like  ours 
that  they  erect  a  standard  of  happiness  far  above  what  ir 
usual, — and  how  many  are  there  upon  whom  Providence 
bestows  unusual  happiness !" 

Ernestine  smiled  bitterly  at  Johannes's  last  words. 
"Providence!"  she  murmured,  "  we  are  our  own  provi- 
dence. We  shape  our  own  destiny,  create  our  joy  or  our 
misery, — the  conditions  of  either  are  in  ourselves  !" 

"And  because  we  are  so  mysteriously  gifted  beyond 
other  creatures,  because  we  are  mentally  freer  and  more 
conscious  of  ourselves  than  other  beings,  our  responsi- 
bility as  regards  ourselves  and  those  whom  we  see  around 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN'  FOR    THE  SOUL.  253 

us  is  all  the  greater.  There  are  natures  that  are  eternally 
wretched,  because  they  demand  more  of  life  than  it  can 
possibly  afford  them,  and  undervalue  all  that  it  offers 
them,  although  it  makes  their  lot  enviable  in  the  eyes  of 
all.  Then  we  say,  '  Their  unhappiness  is  their'own  fault, 
they  have  everything  to  make  them  happy,  no  one  in- 
jures them  ;  why  are  they  so  exorbitant  in  their  longings  ?' 
But  this  is  wrong.  They  are  not  insatiate,  they  would 
perhaps  be  contented  with  a  far  more  moderate  lot.  "NY hat 
fault  is  it  of  theirs  that  the  demands  of  their  innermost 
nature  are  such  that  they  require  just  what  fate  has  not 
bestowed  upon  them  ?  Of  what  use  is  a  glittering  gem 
to  the  traveller  in  the  desert  languishing  for  a  drop  of 
water  ?  How  willingly  would  he  exchange  the  bauble 
for  what  he  longs  for !  Who  would  say  to  him,  '  You 
have  a  precious  treasure,  why  are  you  not  content  V 
Who  would  reproach  him  with  being  a  human  creature 
that  cannot  live  without  drinking  ?  The  most  one  can  say 
to  him  is,  '  Since  you  know  that  you  cannot  live  without 
water,  why  go  into  the  desert  ?'  There  is  the  point  where 
we  are  responsible.  If  we  know  what  are  the  conditions 
of  our  existence,  we  must  see  to  it  that  what  we  choose  in 
life  accords  with  those  conditions,  always  provided  that 
Providence  gives  us  the  right  of  free  choice.  If  this  right 
is  ours  and  we  choose  falsely,  it  is  our  fault  if  we  are 
wretched.  I  call  it  an  unusual  boon,  therefore,  when 
Providence  permits  us  to  choose  a  lot  that  harmonizes 
with  our  nature.  If  this  is  denied  us,  the  man  of  the 
greatest  freedom  of  thought  is  not  responsible  for  his 
fate, — he  is  under  the  ban  of  a  higher  power." 

Ernestine  listened  to  him.  with  undisguised  interest. 
He  saw  it,  and  continued : 

"  We,  Fraulein  Hartwich,  are  free  to  choose,  and  are 
therefore  responsible  to  each  other,  and  it  is  incumbent 
upon  us  to  be  on  the  watch.  A  kindly  Providence,  you 
too  must  admit  this,  has  brought  us  together,  and  left  the 
decision  as  to  what  we  will  be  to  each  other  in  our  own 
hands.  Let  us  show  ourselves  worthy  of  the  trust;  let 
us  try  ourselves.  I  am  sure  you  feel  with  me  that  the 
moment  must  be  a  glorious  one  in  which  two  human 
beings  recognize  each  other  as  their  embodied  destiny. 

22 


254  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

But  it  must  be  celebrated  not  by  gushes  of  sentimentality 
nor  by  would-be  transcendentalism,  but  in  perfect  peace 
of  mind  !" 

He  took  her  hand  and  gazed  into  her  eyes.  She  stood 
quietly  before  him,  and  gathered  calmness  from  his  look. 
And  again  that  significant  silence  ensued  so  dear  to  those 
whose  hearts  are  full  of  what  they  cannot  or  dare  not 
speak.  Suddenly  Frau  Willmers  softly  opened  the  door. 

"  There  is  a  lady  without,  who  wishes  to  speak  with 
you,  Fraulein  Hartwich." 

"With  me!"  asked  Ernestine  in  displeased  surprise. 
"Who  is  she?" 

"  She  refuses  to  give  her  name,  and  will  not  be  denied. 
She  says  if  Fraulein  von  Hartwich  is  not  at  leisure  now, 
she  will  wait  any  length  of  time." 

"  Did  you  tell  her  I  was  engaged  with  a  visitor  ?" 

"No,  there  is  no  knowing  whether  the  lady" — here 
she  cast  an  embarrassed  glance  at  Johannes — "  might 
not  tell  your  uncle!" 

Ernestine  looked  down  confused.  "  That  is  true — if 
it  should  chance — What  is  to  be  done  ?  How  very  an- 
noying!" 

"  I  thought  perhaps  the  gentleman  would  allow  me 
to  take  him  through  the  laboratory  and  down  the  other 
staircase  ?"  said  Frau  WTillmers  in  a  tone  of  anxious 
entreaty. 

"Shall  I  ?"  asked  Johannes,  not  without  evident  vexa- 
tion. 

Ernestine  looked  at  Frau  Willmers.  "  Pray  do,"  she 
begged,  "  out  of  pity  for  poor  Frau  Willmers,  who  will 
have  to  bear  the  whole  burden  of  my  uncle's  displeasure 
if  he  should  learn  that  she  had  connived  at  our  meeting." 

"  I  must  comply  with  your  wishes,  but  only  for  this 
once,"  he  said,  quietly  offering  her  his  hand.  "  When 
may  I  come  again  ?" 

"  Next  Saturday,  will  you  not  ?" 

Johannes  knew  perfectly  well  why  she  appointed  that 
day,  but  be  said  nothing,  and  followed  Frau  Willmers. 
At  the  door  he  turned  and  looked  at  Ernestine.  She  saw 
something  like  displeasure  in  his  face,  and  hastened  after 
him. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  255 

"  Pray  do  not  be  angry  with  me,  kind  sir." 

Johannes  was  touched  by  the  gentle  entreaty  from  one 
usually  so  stern  and  cold.  He  pressed  his  lips  upon  her 
hand  and  whispered  softly,  "I  shall  never,  never  be  angry 
with  you.  God  bless  you  !" 

The  door  closed  behind  him,  and  Ernestine,  still  agi- 
tated by  the  interview,  half  awake  and  half  dreaming, 
went  into  the  antechamber  to  receive  the  stranger  waiting 
there. 

The  Worronska,  in  all  her  grandeur,  stood  before  her. 

Ernestine  had  never  in  her  life  seen  so  extraordinary  a 
vision.  She  was  actually  dazzled. 

The  brown,  Juno-like  eyes  were  regarding  her  with 
strange  curiosity,  the  black  eyebrows  were  gloomily  con- 
tracted ;  there  was  something  so  hard  and  haughty  in 
her  air  and  bearing  that  Ernestine  took  offence  at  it  before 
a  word  had  been  uttered. 

The  way  in  which  the  lady  measured  her  with  her 
glance  from  head  to  foot  recalled  to  her  memory  the  pain 
that  she  had  once  suffered  beneath  the  gaze  of  the  Staats- 
rathin's  guests.  For  one  second  she  felt  in  danger  of 
the  same  overwhelming  sensation  of  embarrassment.  She 
seemed  to  grow  pale  and  wither  in  the  presence  of  this 
dazzling  and  haughty  person.  But  she  was  no  longer  a 
child,  sensible  only  of  her  defects,  and  the  next  moment 
the  pride  of  conscious  power  came  to  her  relief.  She 
knew  that  she  stood  in  the  presence  of  an  enemy,  but 
she  felt  herself  the  equal  of  her  opponent.  Who  was  this 
woman  who  thus  assumed  the  right  to  look  down  upon 
her?  Whence  did  she  derive  this  right? — from  beauty, 
wealth,  or  rank  ?  Did  she  know  as  much  as  Ernestine  ? 
Had  she  written  a  prize  essay  ?  And,  more  than  all,  did 
she  possess  such  a  friend  as  now  belonged  to  Ernestine? 
No,  no,  assuredly  not.  Ernestine  was  her  equal,  who- 
ever she  might  be. 

"  Will  you  walk  in  ?"  said  Ernestine  with  icy  repose  of 
manner  and  with  a  dignity  that  evidently  impressed  the 
countess  greatly.  Ernestine  stood  aside  to  allow  her  to 
pass,  and  motioned  her  towards  a  small  sofa  filling  a 
recess  of  the  room,  while  she  herself  took  a  seat  opposite. 
Her  lips  were  closed ;  no  conventional  grimace,  usual 


256  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

upon  the  reception  of  a  visitor,  distorted  the  pure  beauty 
of  her  grave  countenance.  She  awaited  in  silence  the 
stranger's  communication  ;  she  was  too  unfamiliar  with 
the  forms  of  society  to  excuse  herself  for  having  kept  her 
waiting  in  the  antechamber.  The  countess  at  last  under- 
stood that  she  must  be  the  first  to  speak.  She  felt,  too, 
in  the  presence  of  such  a  woman  as  Ernestine  that  her 
coming  hither  was  a  mistake,  and  it  made  her  falter.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  confused.  The  tables 
were  turned.  Ernestine  was  already  the  victor  in  this 
silent  encounter.  Hers  was  the  victory  of  true  self- 
respect  over  the  frivolous  conceit  of  a  jealous  coquette. 

The  Worronska  had  failed  in  her  part  even  before  she 
began  to  play  it.  She  had  heard  Mollner's  voice  and 
his  step  as  he  left  the  room.  The  affair,  then,  had  gone 
farther  than  she  had  thought.  Anger  had  put  her  off  her 
guard,  and  given  her  a  hostile  air  when  she  had  come  to 
allure  and  perhaps  lead  astray.  -Her  error  must  be  rec- 
tified at  all  hazards.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Ernestine 
and  said,  in  her  melodious  Russian-German,  "  I  am  the 
Countess  Worronska." 

Ernestine  slightly  inclined  her  head,  and  the  expression 
of  her  face  grew  colder  and  more  forbidding  than  before. 
"And  what  is  your  pleasure  with  me,  Countess  Worron- 
ska ?" 

"  What  ?  Oh,  that  is  soon  told.  I  seek  from  you 
amusement,  instruction,  excitement, — everything  that  so 
talented  a  companion  as  you  are,  and  one  so  entirely  of 
my  way  of  thinking,  can  bestow." 

Ernestine  recoiled  almost  perceptibly.  "  Of  your  way 
of  thinking  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Most  certainly  !  We  are  both  advocates  of  the  eman- 
cipation of  women,  each  in  her  own  way,  but  our  object 
is  the  same.  We  are  both  adherents  of  the  great  cham- 
pion of  women's  rights,  Louisa  A ,  who  is  my  in- 
timate friend.  How  charming  it  would  be  to  enlist  you 
also !  We  could  then  labour  in  concert, — I  in  action, 
Louisa  through  the  daily  press,  you  by  your  books." 

Ernestine  listened  with  the  same  unmoved  counte- 
nance to  what  the  countess  said.  When  she  had  fin- 
ished, Ernestine  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  seeking 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  257 

some  fitting  form  of  speech  for  what  she  wished  to  say. 
The  countess  watched  her  eagerly.  At  last  Ernestine 
replied,  "  Countess  Worronska,  I  must  decline  your  pro- 
posal,— I  am  resolved  to  pursue  my  path  alone." 

The  Worronska  bit  her  lips.  "Indeed?  You  are 
afraid  of  sharing  your  laurels  ?" 

"  Not  so,"  rejoined  Ernestine  calmly.  "  I  am  afraid  of 
sharing  the  laurels  of  a  Louisa  A ." 

"  Oh  !  would  you  think  that  a  disgrace  ?" 

"Yes." 

A  pause  ensued.  The  countess  cast  a  fierce  glance  at 
Ernestine,  who  bore  it  coldly  and  unflinchingly.  Again 
rage  seethed  in  the  bosom  of  the  Worronska,  but  she  con- 
trolled herself,  for  she  was  determined  to  compass  her 
ends,  and  knew  that  she  must  be  upon  her  guard  with 
this  girl. 

"  You  are  certainly  frank,"  she  began.  "But  I  like  that, 
— it  is  original." 

"  It  is  unfortunate  that  truth  should  be  so  rare  among 
your  associates,  Countess  Worronska,  that  you  call  it 
original  1" 

"  You  are  severe,  Friiulein  Hartwich.  You  should 
know  my  friends,  and  then  you  would  be  more  lenient  to 
their  weaknesses.  Why  is  it  unfortunate  ?  Refinement 
of  taste  brings  that  in  its  train.  We  cushion  the  chairs 
on  which  we  sit,  we  plane  and  polish  the  rough  wood  of 
our  furniture,  we  clothe  the  bare  walls  of  our  rooms  with 
tapestry,  we  do  not  devour  our  meat  raw  like  the  Cos- 
sacks, but  delicately  cooked  to  please  our  palates.  Why 
then  should  we  surround  ourselves  morally  with  spikes 
and  thorns,  which  rend  and  tear  those  around  us  ?  AVhy 
should  we  partake  of  our  intellectual  food  so  raw  and 
undressed  that  it  disgusts  us  ?  Thank  Heaven,  we  have 
put  off  such  barbarisms  with  our  more  advanced  culture." 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,  Countess  Worronska,  looking 
upon  the  matter  from  a  worldly  point  of  view.  I  am 
only  surprised  to  hear  you  defend  the  forms  of  society 
while  you  despise  its  proprieties." 

A  crimson  uush  rose  to  the  brow  of  her  visitor.  But 
her  rage  only  strengthened  her  determination  to  subdue 

22* 


258  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

her  foe,  superior  as  she  could  not  but  acknowledge  her  to 
be.  "  Yes,  what  you  say  is  true  :  I  love  forms,  because 
they  are  pleasant  and  useful.  I  hate  propriety,  because 
it  would  be  our  master,  and  by  propriety  you  mean  de- 
corum— I  understand  you  perfectly.  Yes,  then,  yes:  I 
love  the  forms  of  society,  that  give  an  aesthetic  charm  to 
existence,  and  make  it  smooth  and  easy,  but  I  hate  what 
people  call  decorum.  When,  in  despair  at  the  tyranny 
of  my  first  husband,  and  utterly  loathing  his  rude  vul- 
garity, I  left  him  by  stealth,  and  fled,  at  peril  of  my 
life, "across  the  half-frozen  Neva  to  my  father,  to  share 
his  solitude  and  poverty,  I  acted  honourably,  but  every 
one  condemned  me ;  the  runaway  wife  was  an  object 
of  scorn, — she  had  sinned  against  the  laws  of  decorum. 
But  when,  after  my  divorce,  I  married  the  old  Count 
Worronska,  simply  because  I  coveted  rank  and  wealth,  I 
acted  dishonourably,  but  I  had  done  nothing  indecorous. 
Every  one  bowed  low  before  me,  and  I  found  myself  an 
object  of  respect  to  others  when  I  was  so  deeply  sunk  in 
my  own  esteem.  And  can  I  do  homage  to  decorum,  the 
idol  to  which  we  are  sacrificed,  the  empty  scarecrow  that 
the  selfishness  of  men  sets  up  to  keep  us  within  our 
prison-walls  ?  In  the  folds  of  its  garment  lie  hidden 
tyranny,  hate  and  revenge,  jealousy  and  envy,  malice 
and  uncharitableness,  ready  to  crawl  out  like  poisonous 
serpents  and  attack  its  victims.  What  free  spirit  will 
not  curse  it  if  it  has  ever  been  aware  of  even  the  shadow 
of  its  rod  ?  I  began  by  cursing  it,  but  I  have  ended  by 
despising  it.  I  have  sworn  hostility  to  it,  and,  trust  me, 
there  is  a  rare  delight  in  stripping  it  of  its  mask.  Louisa 

A contends  against  it  with  far  nobler  weapons  than 

it  deserves.  It  is  not  worth  the  going  out  to  meet  it  with 
such  solemn  pathos.  A  hundred  years  hence,  the  world 
will  laugh  to  think  that  it  should  have  had  power  to 
annoy  such  a  woman  as  Louisa." 

She  ceased,  and  looked  into  Ernestine's  face  to  see  the 
effect  of  her  words.  But  there  was  no  change  of  feature 
there. 

"  I  cannot  vie  with  you  in  your  style  of  speaking, 
Countess  Worronska.  I  am  used  to  plain  thoughts.  I 
am  not  practised  in  metaphor,  and  cannot  adorn  what  I 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  259 

say  with  such  wealth  of  imagery.  I  can  only  reply 
plainly  and  frankly  to  what  you  say,  that  what  you 
designate  as  our  foe  I  consider  our  protection,  and  that  it 
is  a  far  different  foe  that  I  contend  with.  Therefore  we 
should  never  agree,  and  it  is  a  useless  waste  of  time  to 
attempt  any  closer  intercourse." 

The  countess  started,  and  the  colour  left  her  lips,  so 
tightly  were  they  compressed.  Yet  she  would  make  one 
more  attempt.  She  regarded  Ernestine  with  a  look  of 
profound  compassion,  and  possessed  herself  of  her  reluc- 
tant hand.  "  Poor  child !  does  even  your  bold  spirit 
languish  in  the  fetters  of  prejudice  ?  What  a  pity  !  How 
inconceivable!  And  will  you. tell  me  what  foe  it  is  that 
you  wish  to  subdue?" 

"The  mean  opinion  that  men  entertain  of  our  sex." 

"And  you  would  combat  this  with  your  pen?" 

"I  hope  to  do  so." 

"Do  not  mistake;  we  have  mightier  weapons  for  the 
contest  than  the  pen!" 

"  There  are  none  more  effectual  than  the  cultivation  of 
our  powers,  for  it  will  prove  to  them  that  we  do  not  de- 
serve their  contempt, — that  we  can  perform  tasks  that 
they  consider  emphatically  their  own." 

"They  will  never  acknowledge  it.  All  intellectual 
power  is  relative, — there  is  nothing  absolute  but  physical 
force.  If  we  can  knock  a  man  down,  he  must  believe 
that  we  are  as  strong  as  he.  But  he  will  never  concede 
our  intellectual  equality,  because  there  is  no  compelling 
him  to  be  just.  As  long  as  there  is  no  third  authority  in 
the  world  to  act  as  umpire  in  the  contest  between  the 
sexes,  which  can  only  be  if  God  himself  should  descend 
from  the  skies,  so  long  must  we  be  victims  to  the  egotism 
of  men  1" 

Ernestine  looked  down  thoughtfully.  "You  may  be 
right,  but  we  must  comfort  ourselves  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  by  the  contest  itself  we  have  done  good.  To 
do  good  is  the  object  of  all,  and  the  individual  must 
be  content  with  the  peace  of  this  consciousness  as  his 
reward." 

"What  cold  comfort!  Why,  every  flower  in  your 
path  will  perish  in  such  an  icy  atmosphere!  I  pity  you! 


260  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Come,  confide  in  me.  In  spite  of  your  bluntness,  I  feel 
drawn  towards  you.  I  will  introduce  you  to  a  new  ex- 
istence, where  you  may  learn  how  to  revenge  yourself 
upon  men.  You  bear  the  stamp  upon  your  brow  of  one 
gifted  by  God  to  be  their  scourge.  Learn  to  understand 
yourself,  and  you  will  see  how  perverted  your  views  are  1 
Your  power  lies  not  in  the  bulky  volumes  that  you  write. 
Our  charms  are  the  weapons  by  which  we  conquer! 
As  long  as  men  have  eyes  and  we  have  beauty,  they 
must  be  our  slaves;  and  you  would  imprison  yourself 
within  four  walls,  and  toil  and  strive,  while  you  have 
only  to  face  those  who  shrug  their  shoulders  at  your 
writings,  to  have  them  prostrate  at  your  feet!  Would 
not  this  be  an  easier  conquest?" 

Ernestine  was  silent.  The  countess  saw  with  delight 
that  she  was  evidently  agitated,  and  continued  more  con- 
fidently. 

"You  are  beautiful, — how  beautiful  you  }~ourself  do 
not  probably  know,  or  you  would  not  deprive  the  world  of 
a  sight  that  would  enchant  it,  or  yourself  of  the  satisfac- 
tion of  observing  its  admiration.  Believe  me, — there  is 
no  greater  delight  than  the  triumph  of  our  charms.  To 
know  yourself  an  object  of  worship, — to  be  able  to  bless 
with  a  smile ! — ah,  what  rapture !  It  is  a  divine  privilege, 
that  thousands  would  envy  you.  In  comparison  with  it, 
what  is  the  feeble  pleasure  that  your  studies  can  afford 
you?  What  can  it  matter  to  you  if  it  is  reported  for  a 
few  miles  around  that  you  are  a  great  scholar?  Is  such 
a  report  a  {lower,  refreshing  you  by  its  fragrance  ? — a 
flame,  that  can  warm  you,  or  a  ray  of  light,  that  can  dazzle 
you?  Can  it  give  pleasure  to  any  one  besides  yourself? 
Jt  is  invisible,  incomprehensible, — a  mere  idea,  a  phantom, 
a  nothing.  Its  only  value  for  you  is  the  value  that  it 
gives  you  in  the  eyes  of  others,  for  in  ourselves  we  are 
nothing.  We  are  only  what  we  may  become  through 
our  relation  to  others.  Go  to  the  hunters  of  Siberia,  or 
to  the  Laplanders,  and  ascertain  whether  you  find  it  any 
satisfaction  that  you  rank  among  the  scholars  of  Germany. 
You  are  striving  for  one  end,  that  you  may  secure  some 
value  in  the  eyes  of  men  and  revenge  yourself  for  the 
contempt  heaped  upon  you  as  a  woman.  You  seek  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  261 

means  to  this  end  in  your  inkstand, — seek  it  in  your 
dark,  lustrous  eyes, — in  your  long  silken  hair.  You  will 
find  it  there,  like  the  girl  in  the  fairy-tale.  You  can  comb 
pearls  and  diamonds  out  of  those  locks.  Let  me  be  the 
fairy  to  hand  you  the  magic  comb." 

"Cease,  I  pray  you,  Countess  Worronska  I"  cried 
Ernestine,  blushing  deeply.  "I  cannot  listen  to  such 
words." 

"If  you  fear  my  words,  it  proves  the  effect  that  they 
have  upon  you,  and  I  have  half  conquered  already,"  cried 
the  temptress  exultingly. 

"  If  you  think  so,"  said  Ernestine  haughtily,  "  continue, 
I  pray  you.  When  you  have  finished,  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  would  rather  not  have  been  compelled  to  say." 

"  You  will  think  more  kindly  of  me  when  you  have 
heard  me  to  the  end,"  said  the  countess.  "You  think 
my  views  immoral ;  but  what  is  immorality  ?  What  corre- 
sponds closely  with  the  laws  of  nature?  What  morality 
do  the  brutes  possess?  None!  and  they  are,  therefore, 
irresponsible.  They  obey  those  laws  which  you,  as  a 
student  of  nature,  esteem  the  first  and  highest.  Ascetics 
say  morality  is  necessary  to  preserve  that  order  without 
which  chaos  would  come  again.  But  I  ask  you,  Does 
chaos  reign  in  the  brute  creation?  Does  not  the  strictest 
order  in  the  preservation  of  species  prevail  there?  Does 
not  each  possess  and  preserve  its  individual  peculiarities  ? 
Does  the  lion  mate  with  the  hyena?  Are  there  not  in- 
violable laws  prevailing  there?  And  it  would  be  just  so 
with  mankind.  Noble  natures  would  attract  only  noble 
natures,  and  the  common  and  vile  herd  with  the  vile. 
Love  would  direct  the  whole,  and  the  indecorum  of  con- 
ventionality, of  force,  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy,  would 
vanish.  Would  not  the  world  be  fairer,  and,  believe  me, 
better?  Conscious  that  no  legal  claim  could  exist  bc- 
tween  husband  and  wife,  each  would  endeavour  to  retain 
the  heart  of  the  other  by  redoubled  tenderness  and  self- 
sacrifice.  Mankind  would  grow  more  amiable,  more  self- 
denying,  and  the  mind  would  be  fed  on  the. freedom  of 
the  body.  As  long  as  we  have  no  freedom  of  choice,  our 
spirits  must  be  enslaved.  Have  not  men  arrogated  to 
themselves  the  right  of  free  choice?  Are  they  bound  by 


262  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

laws?  Where  is  the  man  who  does  not  transgress  them 
in  public  or  private?  But  for  us  there  is  no  appeal, — we 
are  property  possessed, — we  have  no  right  of  ownership. 
We  must  be  far  above  the  necessity  for  change,  inherent 
in  every  human  being, — far  above  the  demands  of  taste, 
of  passion, — above  everything  except  man.  We  must 
achieve  the  victory  over  nature,  so  impossible  for  him, 
but  be  utterly  subject  to  his  will.  Is  this  a  just  order  of 
the  world?  No!  Even  those  who  have  never  felt  the 
pressure  of  its  injustice  cannot  defend  it!  Has  not  ad- 
vancing culture  abolished  serfdom  in  Russia?  And  is 
the  saddest  of  all  serfdom — the  serfdom  of  woman — to 
continue?  No  !  If  you  do  not  choose  to  contend  for  its 
own  sake  for  that  right  of  free  choice,  of  personal  free- 
dom' for  which  such  women  as  Louisa  A are  doing 

battle,  do  it  for  the  thousands  of  poor  weak  creatures 
languishing  beneath  such  a  perversion  of  morality!" 

Ernestine  cast  upon  her  an  annihilating  glance.  After 
a  short  pause  she  said,  "And  if  I  were  to  do  so,  I  should 
be  striving  for  the  ruin  of  humanity.  I  will  not  argue  with 
you  in  justification  of  a  morality  which  you  do  not  under- 
stand, but  I  will  attempt  to  remind  you  of  its  necessity, 
which  has  not,  it  seems,  occurred  to  you.  It  can  be  done 
in  a  few  words.  Morality  is  moderation.  Where  it  is 
wanting,  all  force  exhausts  itself  in  immensity;  for  mod- 
eration is  the  conservative  force  in  nature,  as  in  life.  You 
look  amazed.  You  do  not  understand  me.  I  cannot  lead 
you  in  a  single  hour  along  the  dark,  thorny  path  by  which 
I  have  attained  this  conviction,  and  I  know,  besides,  that 
I  speak  to  deaf  ears.  But  you  have  challenged  my  opin- 
ion. You  shall  have  it,  then."  Ernestine's  cheeks  began 
to  flush  with  noble  indignation.  "All  partisans  labour 
for  their  cause,  which  may  excuse  you  for  attempting  to 
disturb  the  peace  of  a  quiet  mind,  to  instil  poison  into  an 
innocent  heart.  May  you  never  be  more  successful  than 
with  me!  I  will  believe  that  you  have  been  impelled  by 
the  fanaticism  of  your  error,  not  by  the  demoniac  desire 
to  drag  me,  who  have  done  nothing  to  harm  you,  down 
to  your  abyss.  But,  Countess  Worronska,  what  wretched 
error  is  this  upon  which  you  are  squandering  your  power, 
your  glorious  gifts  ?  I  know  it.  Do  not  think  that 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  263 

what  you  say  is  new  to  me.  It  is  the  old  threadbare 
philosophy  of  the  voluptuary.  It  is  the  proclamation  of 
all  that  mankind  should  conceal,  if  not  for  the  sake  of 
morality,  then  for  the  sake  of  immortal  beauty,  because 
it  is  monstrous  if  you  will  not  call  it  immoral.  It  is 
what  has  branded  the  words  '  emancipation  of  woman' 
with  eternal  disgrace.  Enough  !  Spare  me  a  nearer 
approach  to  so  disgusting  a  theme.  I  know  sufficient  of 
it  to  condemn  it;  for  it  was  my  right  and  my  duty,  as  a 
champion  of  our  rights,  to  examine  and  prove  all  that 
had  been  done  by  any  of  my  sex  for  the  amelioration  of 
its  condition.  And  I  have  found  with  the  deepest  sorrow 
how  widely  different  these  women's  paths  are  from  mine, 
how  little  they  understand  their  own  dignity.  What 
they  call  emancipation  is  degradation, — what  should 
make  them  free  makes  them  bold.  Their  frankness  be- 
comes shanielessness.  What  they  call  casting  off  ignoble 
fetters  is  licentiousness.  What  do  they  do  ?  What  do 
they  achieve  to  show  themselves  worthy  of  the  rights 
that  they  demand  ?  Are  such  feats  as  smoking  cigars  and 
shooting  pistols  the  evidences  of  our  greatness?  And 
what  about  these  very  rights  that  they  demand  ?  What 

does  this  Louisa  A •  want  ?  What  do  all  these  women 

want,  who  strut  like  stage-heroines  about  the  world,  filling 
it  with  shrill  clamour  about  their  misunderstood  hearts  ? 
Fie  upon  them  !  They  train  themselves  to  be  slaves  by 
their  struggles  for  emancipation, — slaves  to  their  de- 
sires and  to  men  ;  for  all  their  bombastic  phrases  about 
freedom  signify  freedom  of  intercourse  with  the  other 
sex." 

The  countess  sprang  up. 

"  Hear  me  to  the  end,"  said  Ernestine,  more  and  more 
animated  by  a  noble  ardour.  "  My  words  cannot  do  you 
the  harm  that  yours  might  have  done  me.  I  deeply  re- 
gret that  my  efforts  could  have  been  for  one  moment 
confounded  with  yours,  and  therefore  I  will  clear  myself 
to  your  better  self,  without  an  instant's  delay,  from  the 
suspicion  of  abetting  you  in  any  way.  Let  me  tell  you 
that  my  purpose  is  solely  to  vindicate  the*  intellectual 
honour  of  my  sex, — to  enlarge  the  bounds  of  our  ability, 
not  of  our  will.  Emancipation  of  the  spirit  is  the  goal 


264  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

for  which  I  strive.  Or,  to  speak  more  plainly,  you  work 
for  the  emancipation  of  the  flesh, — I  for  emancipation 
from  the  flesh.  You  see  our  efforts  are  as  wide  asunder 
as  the  poles;  and,  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  fear  the  shadow 
that  intercourse  with  you  would  cast  upon  my  pure 
cause." 

The  countess  drew  around  her  her  mantle  of  black 
lace,  that  had  slipped  from  her  shoulders,  and  shrouded 
herself  in  it  as  in  a  cloud,  then  stepped  up  to  Ernestine, 
who  had  also  risen  from  her  seat,  raised  her  hand,  and 
said  in  a  tone  of  menace,  "  You  will  repent  this." 

Ernestine  calmly  returned  her  gaze.  "  I  scarcely  think 
so,  Countess  Worronska.  Thanks  to  my  occupations,  I 
stand  entirely  outside  of  the  sphere  where  you  could 
harm  me." 

"I  could  kill  you!"  hissed  the  countess,  gasping  for 
breath,  while  the  blood  rushed  to  her  head  and  the  room 
grew  dark  before  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  neither  could  nor  would,"  said  Ernestine 
with  cutting  contempt.  "  You  would  not  afford  the  world 
the  spectacle  of  so  bold  a  champion  of  our  freedom  ending 
her  days  in  penal  confinement." 

"  You  are  right, — it  would  be  folly  to  commit  a  crime 
when  easier  means  would  gain  the  same  end.  I  will  deal 
you  a  death-blow,  and  your  life  shall  bleed  slowly  away, 
and  none  of  our  excellent  laws  can  touch  me.  I  will 
wrest  from  you  the  man  whom  you  love.  I  will, — and, 
trust  me,  what  1  will  I  can." 

Ernestine  said  not  a  word.  She  was  benumbed,  as  if 
by  a  blow.  She  did  not  see  the  countess  leave  the  room, — 
she  saw  only,  by  the  glare  of  the  burning  torch  that  the 
wretched  woman  had  hurled  into  her  breast,  her  own 
heart. 

Was  she,  then,  in  love  ?  And  with  whom  ? 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  265 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
"WHEN  WOMEN  HOLD  THE  REINS." 

BREATHLESS  with  rage,  the  Worronska  descended  the 
stairs  and  left  the  house.  A  groom  was  driving  a 
splendid  carriage-and-four  up  and  down  before  the  house. 
She  beckoned  to  him  ;  he  drove  up  and  sprang  down  to 
assist  his  mistress,  who,  mounted  vipon  the  box,  took 
the  reins  and  whip,  and,  relieved  c/y  being  able  to  vent 
her  wrath  upon  some  living  thin/j',  cut  viciously  at  her 
impatient  horses.  The  groom  sprang  nimbly  into  his 
place  behind  her,  and  away  like  U',e  wind  went  the  modern 
Victory  in  her  triumphal  chariot,  as  if  rushing  to  breathe 
vengeance  and  hate  into  hos'^  fighting  upon  the  battle- 
plain. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  that  hectic,  ill-tempered  girl  can 
rival  me  with  such  a  man  as  Mollner  ?"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  But  shame  on  mr  !;)  she  instantly  added,  "  let 
me  not,  in  my  anger,  prove  a  slanderer  !  She  is  beau- 
tiful, and  a  thousand  timoe  wiser  than  I, — but,  curse  her  ! 
I  could  strangle  her  with  this  band  !" 

The  passionate  woman  felt  hot  tears  coursing  down  her 
checks.  She  struggled  for  composure  ;  her  chest  heaved 
with  the  effort  to  breathe  freely.  She  encouraged  her 
horses  to  still  greater  speed,  so  that  her  carriage  fairly 
rocked  from  side  to  side.  She  was  glorious  to  behold  in 
her  wrath,  as  she  both  urged  and  restrained  the  spirited 
animals, — fit  emblems  of  her  own  wild  passions. 

"  But  I  will  show  her  who  she  is  and  who  I  am,"  she 
murmured.  "  That  I  should  be  insulted  by  this  German 
prude  !"  And  she  gave  the  near  horse  a  cut  with  her 
whip,  making  him  rear  wildly  and  then  drag  on  the 
others  in  his  headlong  career.  In  a  few  minutes  the  vil- 
lage was  passed  through,  and  the  village  curs  desisted 
from  barking  at  the  horses'  heels,  and  retired  growling  to 

23 


266  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

their  homes.  The  steep  descent  of  the  hill  upon  which 
the  village  was  built  was  close  at  hand. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  groom  to  her  in  Russian,  "  look 
there  !"  He  pointed  to  a  sign-post  by  the  wayside,  warn- 
ing travellers  of  the  steep  road.  But  it  was  too  late ;  the 
countess  needed  both  hands  and  all  her  strength  to  hold  in 
her  steeds,  and  could  not  reach  the  handle  of  the  brake. 

"  We  shall  get  down  safely,"  she  cried,  holding  the 
heads  of  the  four  noble  animals  well  in  rein.  But  as  the 
road  made  a  slight  turn  she  recognized  in  the  foot-path 
before  her  a  well-known  form.  Her  face  flushed  crimson, 
— it  was  Mollner.  She  no  longer  saw  the  steep  descent, 
— she  did  not  see  that  she  must  pass  the  church,  where 
service  was  held  at  the  time  and  all  vehicles  were  re- 
quired by  law  to  pass  at  a  walk;  she  only  saw  Johannes, 
whom  she  would  overtake  at  all  hazards.  She  gave  the 
horses  the  rein,  and  they  rushed  on  as  if  for  their  lives. 
Then  Johannes  turned  his  head  towards  her  and  made 
signs  to  her,  but  she  did  not  understand  them.  He  stood 
still.  She  thundered  past  the  church,  and  two  or  three 
peasants,  disturbed  in  their  devotions,  came  running  out 
and  looked  menacingly  after  her.  Johannes  made  signs 
to  her  again,  more  earnestly  than  before,  and  now  she 
saw  that  he  meant  she  should  look  where  she  was  going, 
— in  the  road  just  before  her  there  was  a  group  of  chil- 
dren playing.  She  tried  to  turn  aside — tried  to  hold  in 
her  horses,  but  in  vain.  Neither  horses  nor  carnage  could 
be  guided  or  restrained  in  the  impetus  that  they  had 
gained  from  the  steep  descent,  and  they  tore  madly  on 
directly  towards  the  children.  Johannes,  in  the  greatest 
alarm, .jumped  over  the  hedge  dividing  the  foot-path  from 
the  road.  The  children  scattered  in  terror. 

There  was  a  shriek.  The  countess  looked  around, — no 
child  was  near.  Whence  came  that  cry  ?  It  came  from 
under  her  wheels.  At  that  moment  Johannes  reached 
the  carriage,  seized  the  leaders  by  their  bridles  and 
brought  them  to  a  stand-still.  Then  he  stooped  down 
and  drew  forth  from  beneath  the  carriage  a  lovely  little 
girl,  quite  senseless.  With  a  wrathful  glance  at  the 
countess,  he  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  and  murmured, 
"  I  thought  so  I" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  267 

"  Is  she  dead  ?"  asked  the  countess,  pale  with  fright, 
and  restraining  with  difficulty  her  excited  steeds,  while 
the  groom  put  large  stones  in  front  of  the  wheels. 

"Not  dead,"  replied  Mollner,  "but  no  doubt  severely 
injured." 

"  Oh,  what  an  unfortunate  accident!"  cried  the  countess, 
quite  beside  herself. 

"It  was  no  accident!"  Johannes  rejoined  severely, 
"but  the  inevitable  consequence  of  your  furious  driving, 
Countess  Worronska." 

He  leaned  against  the  hedge,  and  began,  without  a  word 
more,  to  look  into  the  extent  of  the  child's  injuries.  "  This 
is  what  comes  of  it,"  he  muttered  with  suppressed  indig- 
nation, "  '  when  women  hold  the  reins.'  " 

"  Mollner,  do  not  reproach  me,"  the  countess  entreated. 
He  paid  her  no  attention, — he  was  engrossed  with  the 
poor  little  victim  upon  his  knee. 

"Whose  child  is  it?"  he  asked  of  her  playmates,  who 
came  flocking  around  him. 

"  It  is  Keller's  Kathchen !"  cried  the  children.  "Ah, 
our  dear  little  Kathchen  !" 

Some  crowrded  about  Johannes,  others  ran  to  the  church 
to  call  the  parents.  Johannes  tenderly  bound  up  the 
child's  bleeding  forehead  with  his  pocket-handkerchief, 
and  carefully  drew  off  its  thick  jacket  to  examine  the 
shoulder-joint,  that  seemed  to  be  broken. 

The  Worronska  devoured  the  scene  with  envious  eyes. 
She  saw  him  only, — the  grace  of  his  motions,  the  tender 
care  that  he  lavished  upon  the  child, — and,  like  molten 
lava,  the  words  burst  from  her  lips,  "  Oh  that  I  were  that 
child!" 

Johannes  did  not  even  hear  her. 

"The  arm  must  go,"  he  said  sadly.  "The  best  that 
you  can  do,  Countess  Worronska,  is  to  drive  to  town  as 
quickly  as  you  can  and  send  out  Professor  Kern  or  some 
other  skilful  surgeon." 

"Mollner,"  she  implored,  "I  cannot  go  until  you  have 
forgiven  me  !" 

"  I  pray  you  make  haste,  madame.  Your  first  duty  is 
to  do  what  you  can  for  the  child ;  and  I  am  afraid  you 
will  suffer  from  any  delay,  for  there  come  the  enraged 
peasants." 


268  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Like  bees  disturbed  in  their  hive,  a  menacing,  mur- 
muring throng  came  flocking  out  of  the  church,  and  in  a 
minute  surrounded  the  strangers. 
"  What  has  happened  ?" 
"Who  is  hurt?" 
"A  child  run  over !" 

These  words  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  every  one 
pressed  forward  to  know  whether  it  was  his  child.  But 
alarm  soon  gave  way  to  indignation, — for  Kathchen,  pretty 
little  roguish  Kiitlichen  Keller,  was  the  pet  of  the  village. 
All  loved  her,  and  were  shocked  and  grieved  to  see  the 
blooming  flower  so  ruthlessly  cut  down.  The  child  had 
never  harmed  a  living  thing.  Every  one  had  been  glad- 
dened by  her  bright  smile  and  taken  delight  in  her 
chubby  innocent  face.  And  that  this  dear,  artless  little 
creature  should  be  sacrificed  to  the  mad  humour  of  an 
arrogant  stranger  !  What  business  had  this  crazy  woman 
in  their  quiet  village,  disturbing  the  repose  of  their  holi- 
day and  destroying  the  poor  peasants'  most  precious 
possessions? 

Maledictions  were  the  answers  to  all  these  ques- 
tions, that  arose  instantly  in  the  minds  of  the  villagers, 
already  heated  by  wine,  and  their  next  thought  was  of 
revenge. 

"  Curses  upon  the  vile  woman,"  began  one  aloud,  "  to 
drive  so  madly !" 

"  Where  were  your  eyes  ?"  asked  another.  "  Such  a 
child  is  not  a  dog,  to  be  driven  over  !  Could  you  not  turn 
aside  ?" 

"  She  thought  a  peasant's  child  was  of  no  consequence," 
said  a  third. 

"  Who  ever  saw  four  horses  harnessed  together  I"  ex- 
claimed several. 

"  There  is  no  end  to  the  insolent  pranks  of  these  city 
folk." 

"  Thunder  and  lightning  !"  cried  a  sturdy,  broad-shoul- 
dered peasant.  "  Stop  talking,  and  let  us  have  her  before 
the  magistrate." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  to  the  burgomaster's !"  shouted  the  crowd. 

Johannes  was  in  a  most  trying  position.  He  still  had 
the  child  in  his  arms,  no  one  had  taken  her  from  him. 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  269 

He  could  not  carry  her  away, — he  dared  not  leave  the 
defenceless  woman  to  the  insults  of  the  mob.  He  tried 
to  speak  to  the  people,  but  in  vain ;  they  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  him.  They  had  heard  and  seen  the  countess 
rattle  past  the  church  a  few  minutes  before,  and  all  their 
fury  was  concentrated  upon  her. 

Johannes  made  a  sign  to  the  countess,  who  stood  up 
in  her  carnage,  regarding  the  people  with  contempt,  to 
drive  on  instantly;  but  she  cried,  "  Croyez-vous  que  je 
craigne  la  canaille  ?  Je  ne  quitterai  pas  cette  place  sans 
que  vous  veniez  avec  moi!" 

Then  a  voice  shrieked,  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult, 
"  Holy  Mother!  my  child,  my  poor  child  !"  and  a  woman 
rushed  up,  tore  the  little  girl  out  of  Johannes's  arms,  and 
covered  her  with  tears  and  kisses. 

A  handsome  young  peasant  followed  her,  and  gazed, 
wringing  his  hands,  and  stupefied  with  horror,  at  his 
senseless  child.  "  Grod  in  heaven  !  what  have  we  done, 
that  we  should  be  visited  so  heavily  ?"  he  murmured,  and 
would  have  fallen,  had  not  two  of  his  friends  supported 
him. 

"Her  eyes  should  be  torn  out!"  shrieked  the  mother, 
metamorphosed  to  a  fury,  while  she  pressed  her  child  to 
her  breast,  as  if  to  guard  her  darling  from  the  danger  to 
which  she  had  fallen  a  victim.  "  To  jail  with  her,  aban- 
doned, God-accursed  wretch  that  she  is !"  And  she 
kissed  the  child  and  bathed  it  in  tears. 

"  Do  not  curse,"  said  her  husband  gloomily, — "  it's  sin- 
ful on  a  holiday.  God  will  one  day,"  and  he  pointed  to 
Kathchen,  "  demand  this  life  at  her  hands.  She  will  not 
escape  punishment." 

"  May  it  soon  overtake  her !"  sobbed  the  woman. 

The  priesP  now  approached  from  the  church,  with 
all  the  consolation  that  the  occasion  required  of  him, 
and  the  schoolmaster  humbly  followed. 

"  See,  see,  reverend  father,  what  they  have  done  to  my 
child,"  the  mother  cried,  when  she  saw  them.  "And  Herr 
Leonhardt  too, — ah,  she  was  his  pet.  What  is  to  be 
done  ?" 

"  What  a  piteous  sight  1"  said  Herr  Leonhardt,  stoop- 
ing over  his  little  favourite,  while  the  tears  dropped  from 

23* 


270  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

his  poor  eyes,  and  all  the  women  wailed  in  chorus.  But 
the  priest  felt  called  to  utter  a  few  solemn  words  of  con- 
solation in  season. 

"  Give  thanks,  my  dear  Frau  Keller,"  he  said,  raising 
his  hands, — "  give  thanks  for  the  abundant  grace  of  our 
blessed  mother  Mary,  in  that  she  has  so  distinguished 
you  above  others  as  to  call  your  dear  child  to  be  a  holy 
angel  in  a  better  world,  upon  the  very  day  of  her  own 
most  blessed  Assumption." 

"  Reverend  father,"  said  Johannes,  "  this  gratitude  is 
not  necessary,  thank  God,  as  yet,  for  the  child  lives,  and 
will  live, — I  will  answer  for  it." 

"Ah!"  wailed  the  mother  in  despair,  "you  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  bring  such  a  child  into  the  world,  to  love  it 
and  work  for  it  night  and  day  until  it  grows  big,  to  go 
without  many  a  bit  yourself  that  it  may  have  enough, 
and,  when  it  has  got  to  be  a  joy  and  pleasure  to  you,  to 
pick  it  up  here  all  crushed  and  broken !  God  punish 
her  !  God  punish  her  !"  With  these  words  the  woman 
hurried  away,  her  husband  supporting  her  trembling 
arms,  that  were  scarcely  able  to  sustain  the  child's  weight, 
and  yet  would  not  resign  it.  The  pastor  and  the  school- 
master went  with  her. 

"  Here,"  called  the  Worronska  after  the  retreating  pa- 
rents, "take  this  for  the  present.  You  shall  have  more  by- 
and-by."  She  held  out  a  heavy,  well-filled  purse. 

"  Keep  your  money,  we  do  not  want  it,"  said  the  hus- 
band with  sullen  rage,  and  went  on  without  turning  his 
eyes  from  his  child. 

The  countess  looked  down,  pale  and  agitated. 

"  He  is  .right,  we  do  not  want  money,  but  justice," 
shouted  the  mob,  and  pressed  so  close  around  the  car- 
riage that  Johannes  reached  it  with  difficulty.  He  hastily 
kicked  away  the  stones  from  beneath  the  wheels,  and  cried 
out  to  the  Worronska, 

"  Drive  on,  in  Heaven's  name  I  Would  you  expose  your- 
self to  useless  insults?" 

"  Don't  let  her  go,"  was  the  cry.  "  Take  out  the  horses ! 
Go  for  the  burgomaster!" 

"  If  one  of  us  drives  over  a  cat,  he  is  carried  off  to  the 
lock-up, — let  the  great  folks  fare  the  same." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  271 

Some  even  began  to  unharness  the  horses, — but  Jo- 
hannes interposed  with  iron  determination,  snatched  the 
whip  from  the  countess,  who  never  took  her  eyes  from 
him,  gave  the  noble  animals  the  lash,  and  away  they 
went  through  the  living  wall  that  was  closing  around 
them.  A  shout  of  rage  arose,  the  carriage  was  pursued 
for  a  short  distance,  but  it  was  out  of  sight  in  a  few  min- 
utes, leaving  behind  only  the  unfortunate  groom,  cowering 
terrified  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

Then  the  universal  indignation  was  '  turned  upon 
Johannes,  who  stood  quietly  there  with  the  whip  in  his 
hand.  He  had  delivered  the  stranger  from  just  punish- 
ment, and  had  assisted  her  to  escape, — he  was  in  league 
with  her. 

"You  are  one  of  her  friends.  You  shall  answer  for 
her  to  us !" 

"I  certainly  will,  good  people,"  said  Johannes  calmly 
and  kindly.  "  First  let  me  do  all  that  I  can  for  the  poor 
child,  and  then  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  burgomaster's 
or  wherever  else  you  choose."  This  simple  answer  en- 
tirely disarmed  the  rage  of  the  crowd. 

"  The  gentleman  is  right,  I  know  him,"  cried  a  newly- 
arrived  peasant.  It  was  the  same  man  with  whom  Jo- 
hannes had  spoken  upon  his  first  visit  to  the  castle. 

"  Why  did  you  help  that  bad  woman  to  escape  ?"  asked 
some. 

"  Because  she  should  be  dealt  with  in  an  orderly  man- 
ner. I  promise  you  satisfaction,  and  much  greater  satis- 
faction than  you  would  have  in  maltreating  a  woman." 

"  He  is  a  just  gentleman,  a  brave  man  1"  said  the  peo- 
ple one  to  another. 

"  He  takes  it  all  upon  himself, — that  is  honest !" 

"  Come,  then,  good  people,  and  show  me  where  the  Kel- 
lers live, — afterwards  we  will  have  a  word  together." 

The  peasants  assented,  well  content.  "  Yes,  yes !  that's 
all  right  1" 

They  had  not  far  to  go  to  the  wretched  straw-thatched 
hut  of  the  day-labourer  Keller. 

A  wooden  flight  of  steps  upon  the  outside  of  the  hut 
led  to  the  upper  story, — the  space  beneath  was  used  as 
a  stable,  and  the  one  room  above  it,  that  served  for 


272  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

sleeping-room  and  dwelling-room,  contained  a  large  bed, 
an  earthenware  stove,  two  wooden  chairs,  and  a  table. 
Over  the  bed  hung  a  carved  crucifix,  with  a  skull,  and 
a  vessel  for  holy  water,  and  in  the  bed  little  Kathchen 
lay  quiet  and  patient,  almost  smothered  beneath  the 
heavy  coverlet,  gazing  at  the  by-standers  with  bewil- 
dered eyes.  Her  mother  knelt  by  the  bedside,  weep- 
ing. Several  women  were  trying  to  comfort  her,  telling 
her  how  quickly  and  well  the  broken  limb  would  heal  if 
she  would  only  have  a  model  of  it  in  wax  hung  before 
the  picture  of  the  Holy  Mother  of  God  in  the  church. 
The  waxen  limbs  of  all  kinds  that  already  hung  like  a 
wreath  around  the  sacred  picture  bore  witness  to  the  effi- 
cacy of  this  pious  custom.  Frau  Keller  must  lose  no 
time  in  presenting  her  offering, — for  it  was  especially 
efficacious  upon  Assumption  day. 

Frau  Keller  shook  her  head.  She  was  obstinate  in  her 
grief,  and  did  not  believe  in  this  kind  of  cure. 

"  Kaspar,"  she  said,  "  hung  up  a  leg  before  the  Holy 
Mother,  and  paid  a  gulden  for  it.  And  what  good  did 
it  do  ?  Did  he  not  die  of  the  trouble  in  his  leg  after  he 
went  to  town  ?" 

The  priest  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  listening  to  the 
conversation  and  shaking  his  head.  "  Columbaue,  Co- 
lumbane,"  he  now  began,  "  you  blaspheme  !  Do  you  not 
remember  the  cause  of  Kaspar's  death  ?  Do  not  accuse 
the  Blessed  Virgin, — how  could  she  help  the  man  when 
he  would  not  wait  for  her  aid,  but  listened  to  the  evil 
counsel  of  the  Hartwich  and  had  his  leg  cut  off?  He 
did  not  die  of  disease,  but  because  he  made  friends  with 
an  enemy  of  the  Holy  Mother." 

"Well,  then,"  said  one  of  the  women,  "perhaps  the 
Holy  Mother  of  God  drew  him  to  her  again  by  that  very 
leg." 

"  What  ?  Then  perhaps  she  might  draw  my  little  Kath- 
chen to  her  in  the  same  way,"  cried  Frau  Keller  defiantly. 
"  No,  no  !  let  me  keep  my  child,  crippled  though  she  be, 
if  she  only  lives.  I  am  strong,  and  can  work  for  her.  No, 
Kathi  dear,  you  do  not  want  to  go  to  heaven.  You  will 
stay  with  father  and  mother,  even  if  they  have  only  a 
crust  for  you." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  273 

"Yes,  mother  dear,  I  will  stay  with  you,"  said  the 
child  in  her  sweet  voice,  leaning  her  head  wearily  upon 
her  mother,  who,  sobbing,  stroked  the  pale  little  cheeks. 
"Mother  dear,"  she  said,  and  there  cauie  the  sweetest 
expression  into  her  eyes,  "  do  not  cry  so, — it  does  not 
hurt  me  much." 

A  dull  cry  of  anguish  broke  from  the  mother's  breast, 
and  she  hid  her  face  among  the  bedclothes.  "  My  child  ! 
my  child  !  complain, — only  be  naughty  and  fret, — your 
patience  breaks  my  heart, — you  seem  already  on  the  way 
to  be  a  blessed  angel." 

Upon  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  that  stood  with  its  bead 
to  the  wall,  were  two  silent  figures,  the  father  and  the 
schoolmaster.  The  latter  gazed  down  upon  the  child 
with  hands  clasped  as  if  in  prayer,  while  the  father  leaned 
against  the  wall,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands.  He  looked 
up  now,  and  said  with  emotion  but  with  resignation, 
"  Be  quiet,  wife,  and  let  us  bear  it  as  well  as  we  can. 
If  we  must  lose  the  child,  she  is  too  good  for  us, — I  al- 
most believe  so  now." 

"  Father  dear,"  said  Kiithchen,  "  if  you  talk  so,  I  must 
cry,  and  then  you  will  cry  more." 

Herr  Leonhardt  plucked  the  man  by  the  sleeve,  and 
whispered,  "  The  child  ought  to  be  kept  perfectly  quiet. 
Rouse  yourself,  and  send  these  women  away  " 

"  So  I  say,"  said  Johannes,  who  had  stood  for  a  few 
minutes  unobserved  upon  the  threshold  of  the  door.  "  I 
pray  you,  good  women,  leave  us  to  ourselves.  So  many 
people  in  this  small  room  worry  the  child.  Your  friendly 
interest  is  very  grateful;  show  it  now  by  withdrawing." 

The  kindly  neighbours  willingly  departed,  he  was 
such  a  handsome,  pleasant  gentleman  who  requested 
them  to  do  so.  The  priest  also  took  his  leave  ;  the  school- 
master only,  at  a  sign  from  Johannes,  remained. 

Outside,  there  was  no  end  to  the  questions  and  answers, 
as  to  how  all  was  going  on  within,  and  how  Kiithchen, 
usually  so  nimble,  could  have  got  under  the  carriage- 
wheels.  She  was  indeed  a  good  little  child,  for  it  was 
at  last  ascertained  that  she  had  escaped  herself  and  was 
perfectly  safe,  when  she  turned  back  to  rescue  a  smaller 
child,  a  neighbour's  little  boy,  who  was  standing  still  in 


274  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

the  middle  of  the  road.  The  boy  escaped,  but  bis  poor 
little  preserver  was  thrown  down  by  the  horses,  and  so 
severely  injured. 

"  She  is  a  dear  pet — Kiithchen,"  the  men  declared ; 
and  the  women  cried,  "  Oh,  if  you  could  see  her  now 
lying  there  in  bed,  you  would  believe  that  she  was  half 
in  heaven  already." 

She  was  indeed  in  heaven,  as  is  every  true,  pure 
child  ;  for  there  is  a  heaven  so  close  to  the  earth  that 
only  little  children  can  walk  beneath  its  canopy.  We  have 
grown  up  away  from  it;  its  glories  are  veiled  from  our 
eyes ;  it  lies  below  us,  like  golden  clouds  around  a  moun- 
tain upon  whose  summit  we  are  standing. 

"  Well,  Kathchen,  how  are  you  now  ?"  asked  Johannes, 
stepping  up  to  the  bedside. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,"  said  Kathchen  dutifully,  as 
s~he  had  been  taught  to  reply. 

There  was  something  exquisitely  touching  in  the  half- 
unconscious  self-control  of  the  child.  Johannes  was 
moved  by  it.  He  stooped  down  and  kissed  the  pretty 
lips. 

"  One  more !"  she  entreated,  putting  her  unhurt  arm 
around  his  neck. 

"Our  Kathchen,"  said  Herr  Leonhardt,  "is  a  good 
little  girl.  Do  you  know,  Hen*  Professor,  that  the  other 
day  she  was  the  only  one  in  the  whole  school  who  would 
give  Fraulein  von  Hartwich  a  kiss  ?" 

At  mention  of  that  name  a  slight  flush  passed  over 
Johannes's  face.  He  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the 
bed  and  looked  tenderly  at  the  child.  "Indeed!  Did 
you  do  that,  you  angel  ?"  he  whispered,  and  again 
he  kissed  the  lips,  that  seemed  dearer  to  him  after 
what  the  schoolmaster  had  told  him.  Profound  silence 
reigned  in  the  room.  The  parents  looked  on  without  a 
word.  Herr  Leonhardt  alone  saw  Johannes's  emotion. 
The  little  chest  rose  and  fell  more  regularly.  Johannes 
pillowed  the  head  upon  his  warm,  soft  hand,  and  the 
child  dropped  asleep  beneath  the  gentle  gaze  of  her  pro- 
tector. He  looked  at  the  clock.  The  surgeon,  whom 
the  countess  was  to  send,  could  not  arrive  for  a  long 
while  yet.  Nevertheless,  he  determined  to  wait  for  him. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  275 

"  Husband,"  whispered  Frau  Keller,  "  I  have  a  strange 
thought.  When  the  schoolmaster  said  just  now  that 
Kiithi  had  kissed  the  Hartwich,  I  suddenly  remembered 
how  the  child  came  home  and  told  me  all  about  it,  and 
complained  that  the  other  children  had  jeered  her,  and 
told  her  that  something  would  certainly  happen  to  her, — 
that  the  Hartwich  would  bewitch  her !  'Sh  ! — be  still ! — 
don't  let  the  schoolmaster  hear ;  he  would  be  angry  ;  but, 
for  the  life  of  me,  I  can't  help  thinking  it  very  strange  !" 

The  man  looked  thoughtfully  at  his  wife,  and  scratched 
his  head.  After  a  little  he  whispered,  "  It  is  not  worth 
while  to  say  anything  about  it ;  but  you  are  right, — it  is 
very  strange.  Deuce  take  the  Hartwich  !  What  business 
had  she  to  kiss  our  child?  There's  something  wrong 
about  her." 

"  Speak  to  the  priest  about  it,  and  see  what  he  thinks, 
but  don't  let  the  schoolmaster  know  that  }rou  do  so.  Go. 
Say  you  want  some  beer.  The  child  is  asleep  now." 

The  man  slipped  out  as  softly  as  he  could  upon  his 
hob-nailed  shoes,  to  consult  the  priest  upon  so  grave  a 
matter. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

VOX   POPULI,    VOX   DEI. 

WHEN  Keller,  on  his  way  to  the  priest,  reached  the 
village  inn,  he  went  in  to  refresh  himself  with  a  mug  of 
beer,  and  found  the  priest  whom  he  was  seeking  in  the 
inn  parlour,  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  auditors  from  the 
village  and  neighbouring  farms.  The  Protestant  pastor 
was  also  present,  for  the  occurrence  of  the  morning  was 
a  subject  for  universal  discussion.  The  host  was  busy 
supplying  the  company  with  beer-mugs  and  bottles, 
secretly  congratulating  himself  upon  the  accident  that 
had  brought  him  so  much  custom. 

"Ah,  here  is  the  poor  father !    Well,  what  news  ?   How 


276  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

is  she  now  •?"  were  the  words  that  greeted  Keller's  en- 
trance. 

"Bad,"  he  replied.     "The  child  will  be  a  cripple." 

A  murmur  of  compassion  was  heard. 

Keller  turned  to  the  priest  and  asked  to  be  permitted  a 
word  with  him  in  private.  His  request  was  willingly 
granted. 

"Your  reverence,"  began  the  peasant,  "  Columbane 
thinks  the  Hartwich  has  been  the  cause  of  all  this." 

The  priest  clasped  his  hands.  "  What  do  I  hear  ?  Why 
does  she  think  so  ?" 

Keller  told  him  what  had  happened. 

The  priest  shook  his  head,  and  said  in  a  loud  voice  to 
his  Protestant  brother,  "Does  it  not  seem,  respected 
brother,  as  if  we  were  forbidden  by  the  visible  finger  of 
the  Lord  from  holding  any  communication  with  this 
unholy  woman,  who  has  crept  in  among  us  like  a  poi- 
sonous serpent  ?"  He  then  repeated,  so  that  all  could 
hear,  what  Keller  had  just  told  him. 

The  Protestant  divine,  who  was  always  in  harmony 
with  his  colleague  when  there  was  a  common  enemy  to 
do  battle  with,  also  considered  the  matter  a  very  serious 
one.  "  It  would  of  course  be  superstition  to  believe  that 
the  Hartwich  had  bewitched  the  child,  but  it  stands 
written,  'Cursed  are  the  ungodly,'  and  the  curse  must 
cleave  to  all  who  come  in  contact  with  any  such." 

There  was  instantly  a  great  commotion  among  the 
peasants  drinking  in  the  room. 

"This  much  is  certain,"  cried  the  pastor  with  great 
emphasis,  "that  every  misfortune  comes,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, from  the  Hartwich  !" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  resounded  from  all  parts  of  the  room. 

"Whom  has  she  benefited  in  any  way  ?" 

"  No  one,  no  one  !" 

"  Has  she  not  tried  to  sow  among  you  the  seeds  of  her 
sinful  doctrines?  has  she  not,  like  the  serpent  of  Eden, 
hissed  into  the  ear  of  the  sufferers  to  whose  bedside  she 
was  admitted  dreadful  doubts,  instead  of  pouring  into 
them  the  balm  of  divine  consolation  ?" 

"Yes,  yes, — she  always  spoke  disrespectfully  of  our 
pastors  and  their  office." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  277 

The  clerical  gentlemen  looked  mournfully  at  each  other. 

"  She  has  tried  to  stir  up  rebellion  against  the  Church  !" 
cried  the  priest.  "  She  even  turned  me  ignominiously 
from  the  doors  when  I  went,  in  all  the  dignity  of  my 
office,  to  administer  extreme  unction  to  her  servant  Kuni- 
gunda,  and  she  pretended  in  excuse  that  the  maid  was 
not  going  to  die,  and  the  ceremony  would  excite  her  and 
make  her  worse.  She  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  the 
Crucified  beneath  her  roof.  She  is  an  outcast  from  God 
and  His  Church.  Centuries  ago,  such  as  she  were  burnt 
alive;  there  was  good  reason  for  it.  But  we  all  suffer, 
and  must  continue  to  suffer,  from  their  presence  among  us. 
The  devil  has  put  on  the  cloak  of  philanthropy,  beneath 
which  he  hides  all  such  sinners,  so  that  we  cannot  touch 
them." 

"She  is  a  poisonous  sore  in  our  flesh,"  added  the  Prot- 
estant pastor,  "and  it  stands  written,  'If  thine  eye  offend 
thee,  pluck  it  out;'  but  we  dare  not  cut  out  this  sore  that 
offends  us." 

"  Why  not  ? — what  is  to  hinder  us?  "  shouted  the  excited 
peasants. 

"Then  you  really  believe  that  she  has  done  this  mis- 
chief to  our  poor  child  ?"  said  Keller  with  horror. 

"Well,  if  we  cannot  exactly  believe  that,"  replied  the 
Protestant  pastor,  "  we  must  confess  that  we  see  in  the 
accident  a  sign  from  Provideice  that  we  should  avoid 
her.  This  much  is  certain,  that  the  stranger  who  drove 
over  the  child  had  been  visiting  the  Hartwich,  so  that,  if 
she  had  not  dwelt  among  us,  the  accident  would  most 
assuredly  never  have  occurred,  for  that  furious  woman 
would  never  have  come  here." 

"The  Hartwich  is  to  blame  for  it  all!"  growled  the 
drunken  throng. 

"She  is,  in  one  way  or  another,"  continued  the  exposi- 
tor of  Christian  love.  "I  repeat,  with  my  respected 
brother,  every  misfortune  among  us  is  her  work." 

"Yes,  every  misfortune  is  the  work  of  the  Hartwich!" 
yelled  the  chorus. 

"Gracious  heavens!  See!  look  there!"  cried  one,  point- 
ing to  the  windows. 

All  looked  out. 

24 


278  ONLY  A    GIRL;. 

"  Tis  the  Hartwich  herself!" 

"Does  she  dare  to  come  down  here?" 

"She  wants  to  see  the  misery  she  has  caused!" 

"Holy  Mother!"  cried  Keller,  "she  is  going  to  my 
house!"  And  he  rushed  out. 

Like  fermenting  wine  from  a  cask  when  the  stopper  is 
removed,  the  whole  drunken  throng  rushed  after  him  into 
the  street. 

Priest  and  pastor  remained  behind,  looking  at  one 
another.  "What  shall  we  do?"  asked  one.  "Ought  we 
not  to  follow  them,  to  prevent  mischief?" 

"Let  the  people  rage,  my  worthy  friend,"  replied  the 
other.  "It  is  not  for  us  to  interfere  in  such  matters. 
She  is  not  worthy  of  our  protection,  and  the  just  indigna- 
tion of  the  people  will  find  vent  in  words,  that  will  not 
harm  her,  but  that  it  will  be  well  for  her  to  hear.  Vox 
populi,  vox  Dei!" 

"True,  true,"  assented  the  other.  "We  should  not  in- 
terfere with  the  public  sense  of  right  in  such  a  case. 
She  would  not  listen  to  us.  Let  her  hear  the  truth  from 
the  mouths  of  the  peasants ;  perhaps  it  will  have  more 
effect  upon  her  coming  from  them  than  from  men  of  cul- 
ture like  ourselves !" 

"Let  us  hope  so,"  said  the  Catholic  father  devoutly,  as 
he  seated  himself  by  his  Protestant  colleague  at  an  empty 
table,  and  filled  his  glass  from  the  bottle  of  old  wine  that 
the  host  placed  before  him. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Johannes  softly,  as  a  distant 
hum  of  approaching  voices  was  heard.  He  sat  with  his 
hand  still  patiently  supporting  Kiithchen's  head,  and 
would  not  draw  it  away,  lest  he  should  awaken  the 
child. 

The  schoolmaster  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  "I  cannot  tell  what  is  the  matter,"  he  said. 
"An  excited  crowd  is  rushing  to  and  fro  in  the  street,  but 
J  cannot  see  who  they  are  or  what  it  is  all  about." 

"  The  people  have  not  recovered  from  the  event  of  this 
morning,"  said  Johannes. 

Meanwhile  the  noise  drew  near.  Various  abusive 
words  were  heard,  and  it  seemed  as  if  stones  were 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FQJt   THE  SOUL.  279 

thrown  and  fell  upon  the  pavement.  Shrill  female 
voices  cried  quite  distinctly,  "  Not  in  here !"  "  Go  away !" 
"Put  her  out!"  Boys  shouted  and  whistled  through 
it  all. 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  the  schoolmaster,  "they  are 
persecuting  a  lady!  Oh,  yes!  Herr  Professor,  look !  she 
is  trying  to  escape  into  the  houses!  The  women  thrust 
her  out  and  shut  their  doors  upon  her " 

"Brutes!"  exclaimed  Johannes,  beside  himself  with 
rage,  for  one  glance  from  the  window  had  shown  him  how 
matters  stood. 

"Holy  Maria!  they  are  throwing  stones  and  apples  at 
her!"  cried  Frau  Keller. 

Johannes  had  rushed  from  the  room  as  the  school- 
master turned  towards  him  with  the  words,  "It  is  Friiu- 
lein  von  Hartwich!" 

But,  just  as  Johannes  reached  the  stairs,  Keller  burst 
in,  pale  and  agitated,  and  locked  the  door  after  him. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Johannes.  "Do  you 
wish  to  shut  me  in  here  ?" 

"Ah,  sir!"  implored  Keller,  blocking  up  the  passage, 
"do  not  open  it, — the  Hartwich  wants  to  come  in " 

"  Well,  then,  let  her  in  instantly  !  why  do  you  delay  ?" 

"  For  God's  sake,  keep  her  out !"  said  Keller. 

"  Are  you  mad,"  cried  Johannes,  "  that  you  would  close 
your  doors  upon  a  fellow-being  imploring  protection? 
Open  the  door,  or  I  will  force  the  lock." 

"  Sir,  sir,  my  house  is  my  own,  if  I  am  only  a  poor 
peasant!"  cried  Keller  still  blocking  the  entrance.  "This 
is  the  abode  of  honest  labour,  and  no  accursed  foot  shall 
cross  its  threshold." 

The  uproar  without  seemed  stationary  before  the  house. 
A  shower  of  stones  against  the  door  showed  that  the  per- 
secuted woman  had  fled  hither.  Johannes  was  no  longer 
master  of  himself.  His  blood  boiled  in  his  veins,  his 
heart  throbbed  to  bursting.  With  the  strength  of  a  giant 
he  seized  the  burly  peasant  by  his  broad  shoulders  and 
hurled  him  aside — almost  into  the  arms  of  the  school- 
master, who  was  coming  to  the  rescue  also.  Then  he  tore 
open  the  door,  and  Ernestine  fell  half  fainting  at  his  feet. 
He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and,  as  he  stood  thus  shield- 


280  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

ing  her,  cried,  in  a  tone  that  left  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of 
his  hearers  as  to  the  truth  of  his  words,  "  I'll  knock 
down  the  first  man  who  dares  to  come  near  this  lady." 

A  dull  murmur  arose.  "  Let  him  try  to  stop  us,"  cried 
several,  and  clenched  fists  were  shaken  at  him. 

"  Yes,  I  will  try  it, — but  the  man  who  dares  me  to  try 
it  will  repent  the  trial !"  threatened  Johannes.  And  so 
commanding  were  his  words  and  bearing  that  no  one  ven- 
tured further  than  to  throw  a  stone  or  two,  accompanying 
them  with  abusive  epithets.  Johannes  drew  Ernestine 
more  closely  to  his  side.  "  Shame  on  you,  cowards  that 
you  are!"  He  turned  to  Keller.  "Will  you  still  refuse 
a  shelter  to  this  lady? — you  see  that  she  can  scarcely 
stand." 

Keller  looked  at  his  wife,  who  had  run  out  to  them. 
"  Do  not  let  her  in  1"  she  cried.  "  For  God's  sake,  keep 
her  out  I  has  she  not  done  us  harm  enough  ?" 

Keller  looked  at  Johannes  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  You  see  my  wife  will  not  allow  it." 

Johannes  stamped  his  foot  in  despair. 

"Are  you  human  ?" 

"  We  hope  so,  sir,"  said  Keller,  insolently  thrusting  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  And  far  better  than  the  friends  of  that  woman  there," 
shouted  the  mob,  and  a  small  stone  flew  close  past  Jo- 
hannes. 

"  If  I  were  as  crazy  as  you  are,"  cried  he,  "  I  should 
throw  down  upon  you  the  stones  that  you  have  thrown  at 
me  here,  and  my  aim  would  be  better  than  yours.  But  I 
will  not  contend  with  drunken  men  or  do  battle  with 
people  who  are  not  responsible  for  their  actions  ;  all  I  ask 
of  you  is  to  give  way  and  allow  me  to  take  this  lady  to 
her  home." 

The  crowd  maintained  its  place  in  a  compact  mass,  and 
only  replied  by  unintelligible  words,  from  which,  however, 
Johannes  gathered  that  Ernestine's  punishment  was  not 
yet  considered  sufficient,  and  that  she  was  not  to  be  al- 
lowed to  escape  so  easily. 

"  I  will  pay  you  whatever  you  ask,  if  you  will  only 
afford  FrJiulein  von  Hartwich  shelter  until  I  have  quieted 
this  tumult,"  said  Johannes  to  Keller. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  281 

"  You'll  get  nothing  out  of  me,  sir !  Neither  money  nor 
fine  words  will  get  her  across  my  threshold." 

"  Mother,  let  her  come  in,"  suddenly  cried  a  voice  that 
had  a  wonderful  effect  upon  the  mob.  Kiithchen  had 
slipped  from  her  bed  uuperceived,  and  in  her  distress  hud 
run  out  to  her  mother.  She  threw  her  uninjured  arm 
around  Ernestine's  knees,  and  looked  up  at  her  weeping. 
"  They  shall  not  hurt  you  ;  I  love  you  so  dearly  !" 

"Jesus  Maria!"  shrieked  Frau  Keller.  "My  child!  my 
child  !"  She  tore  the  little  girl  away  from  Ernestine, 
and,  followed  by  her  husband,  carried  her  into  the  house. 

"  Do  you  want  to  kill  yourself?"  cried  the  father  in 
despair. 

"No!  I  want  the  lady,  I  want  the  lady,"  the  child 
was  still  heard  wailing  from  the  room. 

A  commotion  now  began,  which  threatened  to  be  se- 
rious indeed.  "  There,  now,  you  see  it  with  your  own 
eyes, — the  sick  child  even  crawls  out  of  bed  to  her.  Don't 
you  see  now  that  she  is  bewitched  ?  The  Hartwich  must 
leave  the  place  this  very  day,  or  we'll  hunt  her  out  of 
the  village." 

"Men!  men!  for  God's  sake,  what  are  you  doing?" 
said  a  gentle  voice  behind  Johannes. 

"  Oho,  the  schoolmaster!"  was  now  the  cry.  "Let  him 
come  down, — we've  had  our  eyes  upon  him  for  a  longtime. 
Come  down,  schoolmaster,  you  shall  be  ducked  for  your 
friendship  for  the  witch."  And  again  the  human  Hood 
overflowed  the  lower  step  of  the  stairs  at  the  head  of 
which  Johannes  was  standing. 

"  Back  !"  commanded  Johannes,  resigning  Ernestine 
to  the  schoolmaster,  "back!  now  you  see  my  arms  are 
free." 

Involuntarily  the  foremost  recoiled  at  sight  of  his  men- 
acing attitude. 

"Deluded  people, "cried  Johannes,  beside  himself  with 
indignation,  "is  there  nothing  sacred  from  your  frantic 
rage, — neither  a  defenceless  girl  nor  the  gray  head  of  your 
teacher?  What  has  he  done, except  spend  his  life  in  the 
thankless  endeavour  to  make  reasonable  human  beings  of 
you?" 

"  He  is  friends  with  the  Hartwich, — it  is  his  fault  that 
24* 


282  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

she  kissed  the  child.  His  house  ought  to  be  burned  over 
his  head  1" 

"Yes,  yes  !"  roared  the  mob,  "their  holes  should  be 
burned  out  and  destroyed — his  and  hers.  Blasphemers  1 
Unbelievers  !  They  shall  yet  learn  to  believe  in  God." 

"  This  is  too  much  !"  thundered  Johannes.  "  Would  you 
prove  your  religion  by  becoming  incendiaries?  Woe 
upon  you  if  you  lay  a  finger  upon  what  belongs  to  either 
of  these  people  !  Do  you  know  the  penalty  for  arson  ? 
And,  depend  upon  it,  I  will  see  to  it  that  you  do  not 
escape." 

A  shout  of  rage  arose  at  these  words. 

"  Herr  Professor,"  said  Leonhardt  imploringly,  "  do 
not  aggravate  these  people  further, — we  cannot  convince 
them.  Children,"  he  called  down  to  them,  and  his  voice 
trembled  with  pain,  not  with  fear, — "  children,  I  have 
grown  old  among  you ;  I  know  you  better  than  you 
know  yourselves.  You  are  too  wise  to  do  anything  that 
would  subject  you  to  the  penalty  of  the  law,  and  too  kind 
to  commit  an  outrage  upon  people  who  have  never 
harmed  you.  You  do  not  believe  that  I  am  an  unbe- 
liever. Have  I  not  educated  your  children  to  be  useful, 
God-fearing  men  and  women  ?  Have  I  not  stood  your 
friend  in  every  time  of  trouble  ?  The  little  house,  that 
you  in  your  blind  fury  would  destroy,  has  afforded  many 
of  you  a  peaceful  shelter, — it  is  a  sacred  spot  to  your  chil- 
dren, and  could  you  lay  a  finger  upon  it  ?  Go  to  the 
church-yard  and  see  if  there  is  a  single  grave  there  of 
your  loved  ones  that  has  not  been  adorned  by  flowers 
from  my  garden,  and  would  you  bury  it  beneath  the  ruins 
of  my  dwelling?  No,  do  not  try  to  seem  worse  than  you 
are."  He  placed  Ernestine  gently  down  upon  the  landing 
and  stood  in  front  of  her.  "  You  know  that  your  old 
master  loves  all  God's  creatures,  and  would  you  condemn 
him  for  taking  compassion  upon  the  unhappy  maiden 
whom  no  one  pities,  whom  all  hate  ?  Do  you  call  me 
godless  because  I  hoped  to  lead  this  erring  but  noble 
nature  to  find  her  God  again  ?  Yes,  take  up  your  stones, 
— look  1  I  will  take  off  my  cap  and  expose  my  white 
head  to  your  aim.  Where  is  the  hand  that  will  lift  itself 
against  it  ? 


OR  A  PHYSIC f AN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  283 

The  old  man  stood  with  uncovered  head,  holding  his 
cap  in  his  clasped  hands.  The  evening  breeze  played 
amid  his  silver  locks,  and  the  stones  that  had  been  picked 
up  were  gently  dropped  again. 

Then  his  arm  was  drawn  down  by  his  side  and  a  kiss 
was  imprinted  upon  his  withered  hand.  It  was  Ernes- 
tine. Johannes  saw  the  act,  and  his  eyes  were  moist. 
She  could  be  grateful.  He  exchanged  a  happy  glance 
with  the  old  man  to  whom  she  had  just  paid  such  a 
tribute. 

"  He  is  only  a  weak  old  man."  muttered  the  people, — 
"  let  him  alone.  He  means  well." 

"  I  will  go  and  bring  their  pastors,"  said  Leonhardt 
softly  to  Johannes,  and  he  descended  the  steps.  He 
walked  quietly  through  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  that 
opened  before  him,  but  closed  up  again  when  he  had 
passed  through. 

"  Come,"  said  Johannes,  raising  Ernestine  from  the 
ground,  "  let  us  try  to  put  an  end  to  this  wretched 
scene."  He  carried  rather  than  led  her  down  the  steps. 
"Make  way  there!"  he  called  in  a  commanding  tone. 

The  foremost  in  the  mob  gave  way.  Just  then  Frau 
Keller  appeared  at  the  door.  She  held  the  cup  of  holy 
water,  which  usually  hung  above  the  bed,  and  she  sprin- 
kled with  its  contents  the  spot  where  Ernestine  had  been 
standing.  Her  pious  act  was  greeted  with  a  shout  of 
applause.  Ernestine  saw  her,  and  trembled  and  turned 
pale,  while  large  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes;  she  grew 
dizzy,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  Johannes  supported 
her. 

"  Courage,  courage,"  he  whispered, — "do  not  let  such 
folly  distress  you." 

"  Look,  look  !  she  cannot  bear  the  holy  water.  She 
didn't  mind  the  stones, — but  a  few  drops  of  water  are  too 
much  for  her."  Thus  shouted  the  mob,  and  the  uproar 
began  again. 

"  Is  this  possible  ?"  cried  Johannes,  casting  prudence 
to  the  winds.  "  Is  it  possible  that  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, and  in  a  civilized  country,  such  utter  barbarian 
stupidity  should  exist?  Do  you  really  believe,  if  Frau- 
lein  Hartwich  were  in  league  with  the  devil,  that  she 


284  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

would  have  borne  your  abuse,  that  she  would  not  have 
thrown  her  spells  over  you  long  ago,  and  escaped  your 
brutality?  Do  you  think  that  she  listens  to  you  from 
choice,  and  likes  to  have  stones  thrown  at  her?  Why, 
the  very  patience  and  resignation  with  which  she  has 
endured  your  outrageous  insults  might  prove  to  you  that 
she  has  no  supernatural  power  at  her  command, — that 
she  has  not  even  the  protection  of  a  bold  nature,  like  the 
other  lady,  with  whom  you  were  justly  indignant.  But 
let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  neither  feeble  nor  weak,  and 
that  my  patience  is  exhausted,  and  my  power,  although 
not  supernatural,  is  quite  sufficient  to  punish  such  excesses 
as  this,  and  to  conjure  up  among  you  a  host  of  evil  spirits 
in  the  shape  of  a  detachment  of  gens-d'armes.  There- 
fore be  quiet,  and  let  us  pass  on  our  way.  Every  mo- 
ment of  delay  increases  the  weight  of  the  charges  that  I 
shall  bring  against  you  before  the  magistrate." 

So  saying,  he  put  one  arm  about  Ernestine,  and  with 
the  other  cleared  a  path  for  himself  through  the  throng, 
who  were  somewhat  quelled  by  his  last  words,  and  gave 
place  grumbling. 

And  now  the  clergymen,  followed  by  the  schoolmaster, 
appeared,  with  every  sign  of  hurry  and  amazement. 

•'  You  come  too  late,  gentlemen,  to  prevent  what  must 
cover  those  under  your  charge  with  shame,"  said  Jo- 
hannes with  severity.  "  I  supposed  such  scenes  impos- 
sible in  our  day.  You,  gentlemen,  have  taken  care  that 
I  should  be  better  informed,  and  have  prepared  a  rich 
page  in  the  history  of  our  civilization.  I  aru  well  aware 
from  what  source  the  insults  heaped  by  these  misguided 
people  upon  Fraulein  Hartwich  draw  their  inspiration, 
and  I  consider  you,  gentlemen,  responsible  for  the 
restoration  of  order  and  the  safety  of  this  lady."  lie 
drew  Ernestine's  arm  more  firmly  within  his  own,  and 
walked  on  without  waiting  for  a  reply  from  the  reverend 
gentlemen,  who  stood  there  speechless  with  alarm  and 
embarrassment,  looking  after  him  with  a  degree  of  respect 
that  they  could  not  control. 

In  silence  the  pair  reached  the  castle  and  entered  the 
garden.  Ernestine  passively  allowed  herself  to  be  led 
through  the  shady  walks.  Involuntarily  Johannes  turned 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  285 

towards  the  little  eminence  where  he  had  seen  her  for  the 
first  time.  He  had  resolved  not  to  leave  Ernestine  here, 
but  to  place  her  that  very  evening  beneath  his  mother's 
protection.  How  should,  he  persuade  her  to  such  a  step  ? 
This  was  the  question  that  he  propounded  to  himself, 
breathlessly  searching  for  the  answer. 

Ernestine  was  for  the  time  incapable  of  speech.  She 
could  not  raise  her  eyes  to  her  protector.  Mortification, 
profound  mortification,  overpowered  her.  How  thoroughly 
she  bad  recognized  his  position  as  a  man,  and  her  own  as 
a  woman  !  She  admired  him, — she  was  ashamed  of  her- 
self. What  a  feeling  it  was  ! — yes,  it  was  the  same  self- 
humiliation  that  she  had  felt  once  before,  beneath  the  oak 
tree  where,  when  flying  as  to-day  from  insults  and  sneers, 
she  had  met  the  handsome  lad  who  had  given  her  the 
prophetic  book.  But  when  would  the  prophecy  in  the 
fairy-tale  be  fulfilled  ?  When  should  she  cease  to  be 
laughed  at,  despised,  and  insulted  ?  When  should  the 
lonely,  persecuted,  weary  swan  unfold  its  plumage  upon 
calm  waters  in  sunshine  and  peace  ?  And  in  an  access 
of  pain  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  burst 
into  tears.  She  sank  down  upon  the  mound  and  sobbed 
like  a  child.  Johannes  stood  silent  before  her.  His  mind 
was  filled  with  the  same  thoughts,  the  same  memories, 
and,  like  an  answer  to  her  mute  soliloquy,  there  came 
from  his  lips,  in  tones  of  melting  tenderness,  the  words, 
"  Poor  swan  !"  Ernestine's  hands  dropped  from  her 
face,  she  stared  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes,  —  then 
sprang  up,  and,  while  her  pale  cheeks  flushed,  and  her 
wfyole  frame  trembled,  gazed  at  him  still,  as  if  she  would 
look  him  through,  her  agitation  increasing  every  moment. 
"  There — there  is  only  one  person  on  earth  who  knows 
that,"  she  faltered. 

"  What?"  asked  Johannes  with  a  beating  heart. 

"  What  I  was  thinking  of — about  the  swan !"  she  ar- 
ticulated with  difficulty,  for  her  voice  failed  her. 

Johannes,  who  stood  somewhat  below  Ernestine,  looked 
up  at  her  expectantly.  "And  who  is  that  person?"  he 
asked  gently. 

Ernestine  could  not  reply, — a  strange  thrill  passed 
through  her,  and  she  awaited  the  issue  of  the  miracle  of 
the  moment. 


286  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Ernestine,  do  you  remember  the  lad  who  once  rescued 
a  wild,  timid  girl  from  mortal  peril  ?" 

She  bowed  her  head  in  assent. 

"  Ernestine,  did  you  ever  then  for  one  moment  in  your 
childish  heart  think  of  him  with  love  ?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  the  twilight  skies,  and  was  silent 
for  a  moment ;  then  she  breathed  a  scarcely  audible  "  Yes." 

A  light,  feathery  cloud  hovered  above  her  head.  Was 
it  the  little  mermaid,  dead  for  her  beloved's  sake,  and,  dis- 
solved in  foam,  borne  away  by  the  daughters  of  the  air  to 
eternal  bliss?  Could  it  return  again, — that  fair,  half- 
forgotten  love-dream  of  her  childhood, — the  only  one  she 
had  ever  dreamed  ? 

And  she  looked  after  the  floating  cloud  as  it  grew 
thinner  and  thinner,  until  it  was  gradually  dissolved  in 
air,  and  the  gentle  radiance  of  the  evening  star  appeared 
where  it  faded. 

"Ernestine,  do  you  know  me  now?"  said  Johannes. 
"  See,  this  is  the  second  time  that  God  has  placed  me  by 
your  side  to  rescue  you  from  a  self-sought  peril,  and,  as 
when  I  then  brought  you  down  from  the  broken  bough, 
so  now  I  open  wide  my  arms  to  you,  and  pray  you,  '  Seek 
refuge  and  safety  here!'  Oh,  little  dryad,  you  are  the 
same  as  then,  for  all  that  you  have  grown  so  tall  and 
beautiful  1  There  are  the  same  mysterious  dark  eyes, 
the  same  strange,  lonely  spirit  imprisoned  in  the  delicate 
frame,  bewailing  its  Titan  descent.  I  knew  then  that 
there  was  only  one  such  creature  in  the  world, — and  I 
should  have  recognized  you  among  thousands  as  I  recog- 
nized you  when  you  stood  alone  upon  this  hill.  Wondrous 
and  fairy-like  creature  that  you  are,  if  you  do  not  dissolve 
in  air  at  the  touch  of  a  mortal,  come  to  this  heart;  if  an 
earth-born  being  may  approach  you  with  earthly  love, 
take  mine  and  learn  to  love  a  mortal.  Yes,  pure,  aspiring 
spirit,  for  whom  this  earth  has  never  been  a  home,  I  am 
only  a  man, — and  yet  a  faithful,  true,  and  loving  man 
Can  you  love  me  again  ?" 

Ernestine  stood  immovable.  She  had  raised  her  hands 
to  her  forehead,  as  one  is  apt  to  do  at  hearing  the  mys- 
terious, the  incomprehensible. 

"  You  do  not  speak ;  have  you  no  words  for  me  ?  Look, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  287 

Ernestine,  do  you  not  remember  the  boy  about  whose 
neck  you  once  clasped  your  trembling  arms  so  willingly  ?" 

At  last  she  stretched  out  both  hands  to  the  earnest 
speaker,  with  a  look  of  unrestrained  delight.  "Johannes," 
she  cried,  as  tear  after  tear  coursed  down  her  cheek,  "  Jo- 
hannes Mollner, — my  childhood's  friend, — I  know  you 
now." 

He  hastened  to  her  side,  and  opened  his  arms  to  clasp 
her  to  his  heart,  but  she  recoiled  with  such  a  burning 
blush,  with  such  childlike  alarm  painted  upon  her  face, 
that  Johannes  controlled  himself,  and  only  pressed  her 
delicate  hands  to  his  lips.  Her  maidenly  reserve  was 
sacred  to  him. 


CHAPTER  X. 

NOWHERE   AT    HOME. 

ON  this  very  evening  there  was  a  social  meeting  of  the 
Professors  at  the  Staatsrathin's.  Johannes  had  entirely 
forgotten  it.  As  the  afternoon  passed  and  evening  ap- 
proached without  bringing  him,  the  Staatsriithin  grew 
really  anxious  about  him,  apart  from  the  embarrassment 
which  his  absence  caused  with  regard  to  her  guests,  to 
whom  she  knew  not  what  excuse  to  make.  She  was 
walking  to  and  fro  in  her  garden  behind  the  house,  where 
her  guests  were  to  assemble  and  enjoy  the  lovely  twilight 
in  the  open  air. 

Suddenly  Angelika  joined  her  in  breathless  haste. 
"Mother,  mother,  I  have  found  out  where  Johannes  has 
been  all  day  long  1"  she  cried,  taking  her  hat  off  to  cool 
her  forehead,  and  throwing  herself  into  a  garden-chair. 
"Moritz  has  just  got  back  from  Hochstetten,  whither  he 
was  called  this  afternoon,  and  he  tells  a  wonderful  tale. 
The  whole  village  is  in  commotion, — the  behaviour  of  the 
Hartwich  has  actually  excited  a  tumult.  There  was  an 
outbreak,  and  Johannes, — our  Johannes, — publicly  de- 
clared himself  her  champion!" 


288  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

The  Staatsrathin  clasped  her  hands  and  gazed  incredu- 
lously at  Angelika.  "  Is  this  true?" 

"  Oh,  this  is  not  all !"  Angelika  went  on  to  say.  "  Mo- 
ritz  did  not  even  see  Johannes,  for  he  was  all  the  time — 
now,  be  composed,  mother — in  the  castle  with  the  Hart- 
wich  !" 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  her  mother,  seating  herself 
upon  a  bench.  "Has  it  gone  so  far  already?"  A  long 
pause  ensued.  At  last  the  anxious  mother  folded  her 
hands  in  her  lap  and  said  softly  to  herself,  "My  son,  my 
son,  what  are  you  doing?" 

Angelika  said  nothing,  but  turned  away.  The  same 
evening  star  that  had  beamed  so  gently  upon  Ernestine 
and  Johannes  glittered  in  the  tears  which  filled  the  sis- 
ter's eyes  as  she  looked  up  at  it. 

"Angelika,"  said  her  mother  mournfully,  "you  should 
not  have  told  me  this  without  some  preparation.  You 
forget  that  I  am  grown  old,  and  my  many  trials  of  late 
years  have  robbed  me  of  the  power  of  endurance  that  I 
once  possessed.  How  much  I  have  gone  through  since 
your  uncle  Neuenstein's  bankruptcy !  All  our  misfor- 
tunes have  come  from  Unkenheim, — your  uncle's  unlucky 
scheme  in  the  purchase  of  the  Hartwich  factory,  the  loss 
of  three-fourths  of  our  property  in  the  affair,  and  the 
consequent  necessity  of  our  leaving  our  home  that  Jo- 
hannes might  practise  his  profession  for  his  livelihood 
here.  And  nothing  of  all  this  would  have  happened  if 
we  had  never  seen  Unkenheim!  And  this  wretched 
Hartwich  girl  comes  too  from  that  place!  You  will  see 
that  she  is  going  to  bring  us  additional  misfortune!  Shall 
we  never  draw  a  free  breath  again  ?  Why  should  this 
creature  disturb  our  dearly-purchased  peace  of  mind?" 

"Mother  dear,"  Angelika  entreated,  kneeling  down 
beside  the  Staatsrathin,  "mother  dear,  do  not  cry  now 
when  we  expect  guests.  Be  comforted, — things  will  not 
go  as  wrong  as  you  fear.  Come,  be  again  the  calm,  pru- 
dent mother  who  never  seemed  so  great  to  me  as  in  mis- 
fortune. I  trust  in  God,  and  our  Johannes 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence,  but  arose  hastily,  for 
several  of  their  friends  appeared  at  the  garden-gate.  The 
Staatsrathin,  accustomed  to  control  herself,  had  regained 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  289 

her  self-possession,  and  received  her  guests  with  her  usual 
graceful  cordiality. 

"  Where  is  your  son?" 

"Is  your  son  not  at  home?" 

To  this  question,  asked  at  least  twenty  times,  she  re- 
plied always  with  unwearied  patience,  "He  was  sud- 
denly called  away,  but  I  hope  he  will  soon  be  here." 

When  old  Heim  appeared,  he  listened  with  a  queer 
smile  to  the  terrible  tale  that  Angclika  whispered  into  his 
ear. 

"AVhat  a  fellow  he  is, — this  Johannes!"  he  said  with 
kindly  humour.  "With  her!  with  her  at  the  castle! 
That's  going  rather  too  fast, — eh?" 

"Oh,  uncle  !"  cried  Angelika,  " is  that  all  the  sympathy 
you  have  for  us  in  so  grave  a  matter?" 

"Why,  you  see,  my  child,  the  matter  does  not  seem  so 
grave  to  me  as  to  you.  Johannes  is  a  man,  and  knows 
what  he  is  about.  You  act  as  if  he  were  a  beardless 
boy,  whose  nurse  ought  to  follow  him  about.  If  this 
clever  girl  pleases  him,  it  is  a  proof  of  his  taste.  What- 
ever you  do,  I  will  not  league  with  you  for  all  the  be- 
seeching glances  of  those  forget-me-not  eyes  of  yours." 
And  the  old  gentleman  seated  himself  deliberately  upon 
Angelika's  straw  hat,  that  she  had  forgotten  to  take  from 
the  chair  where  she  had  thrown  it.  "God  bless  me! 
what  kind  of  a  cushion  have  you  put  in  my  chair?"  he 
cried,  producing,  amid  universal  laughter,  a  flattened 
mass  of  straw  and  violets  that  bore  not  the  faintest  re- 
semblance to  a  hat. 

"  That  comes  of  leaving  one's  things  about.  Who 
would  have  supposed  that  I  should  go  about  in  my  old 
age  sitting  upon  straw  hats?  Well,  well,  child,  to-day 
is  a  day  of  misfortunes!" 

The  company  quickly  assembled.  The  ladies  seated 
themselves  at  the  large  round  tea-table,  the  gentlemen 
stood  about  in  groups,  and,  as  smoking  was  allowed, 
pulled  forth  blue  clouds  of  smoke  into  the  clear  even- 
ing air. 

The  moon  began  to  cast  a  pale  light  through  the  crim- 
son evening  glow.  Night-moths  fluttered  hither  and 
thither,  and  now  and  then  a  big  booming  beetle  would  fly 

25 


290  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

around  the  heads  of  the  startled  ladies.  The  tired  birds 
flew  in  among  the  bushes  to  seek  their  nests,  arousing 
the  alarm  of  the  younger  girls  who  were  in  great  terror 
of  bats. 

Suddenly  a  wiry  voice  without  was  heard  chirping 
Riickert's  song: 

"  Yes,  a  household  dear  and  blest 

Mine  shall  always  be. 
I'll  invite  there  as  my  guest 
Him  who  pleases  me." 

And  Elsa,  leaning  on  her  brother's  arm,  appeared  at  the 
door.  The  Staatsruthin  arose. 

"Ah,  my  dearest,  motherly  friend,"  cried  Elsa  from 
afar,  gliding  towards  her,  "I  fim  late,  am  I  not?  Could 
my  thoughts  have  borne  me  hither,  I  should  have  been 
with  you  long  ago ;  but  imagine — our  droschky  lost  a 
wheel — and  we  had  to  walk  all  the  way." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  Staatsrilthin  kindly.  "  You 
must  have  had  quite  a  fright." 

"Yes,  it  was  a  most  unfortunate  intermezzo,  disturb- 
ing our  anticipations  of  the  pleasant  evening,"  said  Her- 
bert politely. 

"  Oh,  it  did  not  spoil  my  enjoyment,"  laughed  Elsa 
with  pretty  assurance,  and  she  piped  out  the  last  couplet 
of  her  song : 

"Thrown  from  the  carriage  should  I  be, 
A  flowery  grave  awaiteth  me." 

"  The  only  thing  to  lament  was  our  tardiness  in  reach- 
ing you,  and  I  ran  myself  quite  out  of  breath." 

"Not  quite!"  replied  the  Staatsrathin  with  a  smile. 
"  You  were  trilling  very  gaily  as  you  came  along  the 
Bergstrasse." 

"  Really,  did  you  hear  me  ?"  asked  Elsa  in  charming 
confusion.  "  My  voice,  then,  was  more  fortunate  than  I, — 
it  reached  you  sooner  !" 

"  How  is  your  wife  ?"  the  Staatsrilthin  inquired  of  Her- 
bert. 

"  Thank  you, — she  is  always  the  same.     The  constant 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  291 

spectacle  of  her  sufferings,  without  the  power  to  alleviate 
them,  is  almost  too  much  for  me." 

The  Staatsrathin  looked  compassionately  at  Herbert's 
sunken  cheeks.  "  Poor  Frau  Herbert!  and  you  too  are 
greatly  to  be  pitied  !" 

'•I  thank  you  for  your  sympathy, — it  helps  to  lighten 
the  burden  of  my  anxiety  on  her  account." 

Elsa  had  not  listened  to  this  grave  conversation ;  she 
had  already  joined  the  company,  and  the  Staatsriithin 
followed  with  Herbert. 

"A  bat!  a  bat !"  cried  one  of  the  younger  gentlemen 
as  Elsa  approached,  and  he  pointed  to  a  bird  just  whirring 
past. 

"  You  are  severe,"  one  of  his  brethren  said  to  him  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Only  look,"  whispered  a  third,  "  Herbert  is  as  fine  as 
usual  in  a  dress  coat.  It  is  not  fair  to  appear  in  full 
dress  when  he  knows  that  by  the  rules  of  these  meetings 
we  are  all  to  come  in  morning  costume." 

"  It  is  his  way, — no  one  could  expect  anything  else  of 
Herbert !"  said  Taun. 

"He's  a  fool,"  said  Meibert, — "  the  charm  of  ease  in  an 
undress  coat  is  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of  these  meet- 
ings. At  least  1  find  it  so." 

"  So  do  I.  so  do  I,"  cried  one  and  another  of  the  party. 
Meanwhile  Elsa  was  nodding  and  bowing  in  every  direc- 
tion. She  exulted  in  the  consciousness  of  giving  so  much 
pleasure  by  her  presence.  She  loved  every  one,  and  every 
one  loved  her.  Earth  was  a  paradise,  full  of  faith,  hope, 
and  charity, — through  it  she  fluttered  like  a  kindly  fairy 
at  her  own  sweet  will.  She  was  a  little  alarmed  at  not 
seeing  Mollner,  and  her  gaiety  received  a  severer  check 
than  when  she  had  nearly  found  her  "  flowery  grave. "  But 
she  comforted  herself, — he  would  come, — he  could  not 
stay  away  from  the  place  where  Elsa  was.  And  she 
determined  not  to  visit  his  absence  upon  the  company, — 
they  were  not  to  blame  for  it, — she  would  join  in  the  con- 
versation. There  was  something  touching  in  her  good- 
humoured  vanity.  She  would  use  the  advantages  which 
she  was  conscious  of  possessing  over  others  only  for  their 
benefit.  She  took  pleasure  in  her  imaginary  gift  of  con- 


292  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

versation  only  because  she  could  thereby  amuse  her  dear 
friends  by  means  of  it.  How  should  she  know  that  she 
was  ridiculed  and  laughed  at?  She  saw  that  mirth 
abounded  wherever  she  was.  How  could  it  be  caused 
by  anything  but  delight  in  her  presence  ?  Her  confidence 
in  the  esteem  and  love  of  her  fellows  was  impregnable, 
for  it  was  rooted  in  her  unbounded  confidence  in  her  own 
excellence.  Who  would  not  love  a  creature  so  good,  so 
talented,  and  withal  so  modest  that  she  was  kind  and 
gentle  to  all?  Why,  no  one  could  help  it.  This  convic- 
tion inspired  her  in  society  with  a  self-possession  that 
carried  her  untouched  through  all  the  contempt  and  sneers 
that  she  everywhere  provoked,  and  kept  her  quiet  self- 
sufficiency  unruffled.  Most  happily  for  her,  she  felt  all 
the  blessing  without  an  idea  of  the  curse  of  mediocrity 
that  attached  to  her  in  the  presence  of  others. 

She  was  quite  idyllic  to-day,  for  Elsa  in  the  midst  of 
nature  was  a  very  different  person,  although  scarcely  less 
lovely,  from  Elsa  in  her  study.  She  had  encircled  with 
loaves  her  large  straw  hat, — the  wide  brim  of  which  kept 
flapping  up  and  down  as  she  tripped  about, — arid  a  nose- 
gay of  wild  flowers  was  stuck  in  her  bosom.  She  loved 
wild  flowers  far  more  than  garden  flowers.  Everybody 
admired  garden  flowers, — she  pitied  the  wild  flowers,  and 
would  atone  by  her  love  to  the  poor  neglected  blossoms 
of  the  field.  Her  delicate  sense  perceived  beauty  in  the 
humblest  thing  that  grew.  She  did  not  need  grace  of 
form  and  vividness  of  colour  to  impress  her  with  the  wis- 
dom of  the  Creator.  Every  dandelion,  every  blade  of 
grass,  was  lovely  in  her  eyes.  How  wondrous  was  its 
structure !  How  its  modest  withdrawal  from  superficial 
eyes  accorded  with  her  own  retiring  nature !  And  then 
it  was  the  prerogative  of  a  poetic  temperament  to  see 
what  was  hidden  to  all  the  world  beside.  It  was  a  severe 
blow,  therefore,  to  her  tender  heart  when  the  professor  of 
botany  asked,  "But,  Fraulein  Elsa,  why  have  you  brought 
a  bunch  of  hay  to  a  house  noted  for  its  capital  suppers  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  naughty  man,"  she  pouted,  "  you  cannot 
tease  me  out  of  my  love  for  these  darlings." 

"  Do  you  take  all  these  weeds  under  your  protec- 
tion?" asked  the  implacable  professor.  "Then  you  must 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  293 

have  enough  to  do  when  the  cattle  are  driven  out  to 
pasture." 

All  laughed,  and  Elsa  laughed  too.  She  could  take  a 
jest. 

"  But,"  she  replied,  "to  fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  stronger 
is  a  fate  from  which  even  Flora  herself  cannot  shield  her 
children.  Thank  God,  they  all  grow  again!  I  do  not 
wish  to  save  them  from  the  animals  whom  they  serve 
for  food.  It  is  an  enviable  lot  to  sustain  life  in  others  by 
one's  own  death.  I  wish  to  shield  them  from  the  con- 
tempt of  men.  Is  it  not  a  sacred  duty  to  espouse  the 
cause  of  the  despised  ?  And  those  who  do  not  discharge 
it  conscientiously  in  small  matters*will  neglect  it  in  more 
important  things.  So  let  me  put  my  poor  thirsty  flowers 
in  water,  that  they  may  lift  up  their  little  heads  again." 

They  handed  her  a  glass  of  water,  into  which  the  bota- 
nist recommended  that  a  lump  of  sugar  should  be  thrown, 
because,  as  he  said,  sugar-aud- water  was  so  much  more 
nutritious. 

"  Go,  go,  naughty  man,"  said  Elsa,  arranging  her  bou- 
quet. "  Look!  is  not  that  lovely?" 

"  My  good  Friiulein  Elsa,"  cried  the  professor,  "do  not 
ask  me  to  be  enthusiastic  over  the  beauty  of  a  flower. 
I  have  long  lost  the  sense  of  delight  that  people  feel  at 
sight  of  a  (lower.  The  most  beautiful  flowers  for  me  are 
those  that  furnish  most  matter  for  scientific  investiga- 
tion." 

"  What  a  prosaic  point  of  view  !"  cried  Elsa.  "  Tell 
me,  ladies,  can  there  be  anything  more  monstrous  than 
a  botanist  who  does  not  love  flowers?  It  is  as  unnatural 
as  for  a  musician  to  take  no  pleasure  in  music.  It  is 
treason  to  the  scientia  amabilis." 

"You  say  so,"  replied  the  professor  with  some  asperity, 
"  only  because  you  do  not  kno\v  what  is  at  the  present 
day  called  '  the  lovely  science.'  I  assure  you,  modern 
botany  has,  as  De  Bury  remarks,  no  more  right  to  this 
title  than  any  other  science.  It  is  only  the  knowledge 
of  a  couple  of  thousands  of  names  of  flowers  and  the 
manifold  conditions  of  their  existence, — the  examination 
into  their  manner  of  life, — in  other  words,  the  physiology 
of  plants.  The  flower  is  not  the  end,  but  the  means  to 

25* 


294  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

an  end,  the  end  of  physics,  physiology,  and  every  other 
science  :  the  discovery  of  the  whole  by  a  knowledge  of 
a  part  Let  this  part  be  plant,  man,  or  beast,  we  are  all 
searching  for  the  same  laws,  and  it  is  just  as  unnecessary 
that  a  botanist  should  be  fond  of  flowers  as  that  a  physi- 
ologist should  be  a  philanthropist." 

Elsa  blushed  rosy  red  at  these  words.  "  Mollner  loves 
mankind, — I  know  he  does,"  she  whispered. 

"  So  much  the  better  for  him  if  he  does,"  said  the  pro- 
fessor smiling.  "  That  is  a  private  satisfaction  of  his 
own,  and  we  will  not  disturb  it.  But,  seen  in  the  light 
of  his  profession,  men  are  no  more  to  him  than  plants, — 
to  me  plants  are  no  less  than  men.  Both  are  to  us  only 
subjects  for  untiring  investigation." 

"  I  cannot  think  that  of  Molluer,"  said  Elsa  softly  to 
herself. 

The  botanist  shrugged  his  shoulders  compassionately 
and  left  her.  When  he  rejoined  his  brethren,  they  ac- 
costed him  with,  "  It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  have  not 
been  here  long,  or  you  would  not  try  to  preach  reason 
into  Elsa  Herbert.  Who  could  make  a  woman  understand 
such  things  ?"  And  there  was  a  burst  of  laughter,  in  which 
Hilsborn  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  join.  He  was 
never  disposed  to  sneer.  Although  he  himself  could  not 
overcome  his  dislike  for  Elsa,  he  was  too  amiable  to  put 
it  into  words. 

"  But,  really,  for  one's  own  sake  it  is  best  to  make  an 
attempt  at  least  to  enlighten  the  ignorant,"  the  botanist 
replied,  when  thus  attacked.  "  It  is  impossible  to  listen 
in  silence  to  such  nonsense." 

"  Then,  Friiulein  Elsa,  you  consider  it  a  blessed  lot  to 
be  devoured  by  cows,"  said  a  young  private  tutor,  who 
had  but  just  thrown  off  his  student's  gown. 

Elsa  was  quite  happy.  She  had  not  received  so  much 
attention  for  a  long  time.  It  was  the  consequence  of  her 
originality.  How  excellent,  too,  her  spirits  were  to-day ! 
What  a  pity  that  Mollner  was  not  present  to  witness 
her  triumph ! 

"Yes,"  she  said  gaily,  "whatever  is  as  perishable  as 
a  flower  cannot  die  a  more  charming  death  than " 

"  In  a  cow's  mouth,"  laughed  the  skeptic.     "  It  is  uii- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  295 

fortunate  that  Fechner  had  not  conceived  this  poetic  idea 
before  he  wrote  his  '  Nanna.'  " 

"  Oh,  you  may  ridicule  anything  in  that  way,  if  you 
choose  to  do  so,"  said  Elsa. 

"  Do  not  vex  our  kind  Elsa,"  Angelika  here  interrupted 
the  discussion,  throwing  her  fair  round  arm  around  the 
other's  thin  shoulders.  "  Elsa  dear,  give  me  your  nose- 
gay." 

"  There,  put  it  on  your  brother's  writing-table,"  Elsa 
whispered  in  her  ear. 

Angelika  looked  at  her  with  compassion.  "  I  will  do 
what  you  ask,  Elsa,  but  you  know  he  does  not  care  much 
for  plucked  flowers." 

"  But  perhaps  he  will  value  them  when  he  knows  that 
thev  were  plucked  by  the  faithful  hand  of  such  a  friend 
as  I." 

Angelika  took  the  bouquet,  and  said  hesitatingly,  "I 
hope  he  will  not  be  vexed, — he  does  not  like  to  have 
anything  placed  upon  his  writing-table, — but  I  will  try." 

Hastily,  as  usual,  Moritz  came  running  through  the 
garden  just  as  Angelika  was  bending  over  Elsa.  She 
turned,  and  found  her  husband's  sparkling  black  eyes 
resting  upon  her. 

"Moritz,"  she  cried  in  delight,  "have  you  come  at 
last?" 

"  Yes,  my  darling.  I  had  another  patient  to  see  ;  but 
now  I  am  free  to  stay  with  you  until  to-morrow  at  eight, 
— twelve  whole  hours.  Is  not  that  fine  ?" 

"  Fine  indeed!"  repeated  Angelika,  and  poor  Elsa  list- 
ened to  these  loving  speeches,  longing  for  the  time  when 
such  happiness  should  be  hers. 

"  Come,"  said  old  Heim,  plucking  Moritz  by  the  sleeve, 
"  we  cannot  live  upon  your  pretty  speeches  to  your  wife, 
and  they  may  spoil  our  appetites.  Your  mamma  begs 
you  to  play  the  part  of  host  at  supper." 

"  Come,  Angelika,"  said  Moritz,  drawing  Angelika's 
arm  through  his  own.  He  never  took  any  other  woman, 
than  his  wife  to  supper. 

This  was  a  trying  moment  for  Elsa,  for  it  was  her  usual 
fate  to  be  left  sitting  still  when  supper  was  ready  or  a 
dance  was  in  prospect.  She  must  either  join  herself  to 


296  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

some  other  unfortunate,  similarly  neglected,  or  perhaps 
be  offered  a  left  arm  by  some  good-natured  man  already 
provided  with  a  lady  upon  his  right.  Ah,  her  knight,  her 
Lohengrun,  was  not  there,  he  who  would  one  day  rescue 
her  forever  from  this  solitude.  Where  was  he  ?  Why 
did  he  not  come  ?  And  in  her  distress  she  turned  to  one  of 
the  gentlemen  who  had  just  finished  smoking  and  was 
approaching  the  circle  of  ladies.  "  Do  you  not  know 
where  Professor  Mollner  is  ?" 

The  gentleman  was  a  young  assistant  surgeon,  whom 
Moritz  had  taken  to  the  village  with  him  that  afternoon. 
The  latter,  as  he  passed,  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Do  not 
tell." 

The  young  man  looked  confused,  and  just  then  Herbert 
approached  and  said  maliciously,  "You  were  in  Hoch- 
stetten  this  afternoon,  where  Professor  Mollner  played  his 
usual  part  of  good  Samaritan  ?  I  heard  you  telling  Hils- 
born  about  it, — pray  favour  us  too  with  the  interesting 
story." 

He  laid  his  hand,  as  if  unconsciously,  upon  his  sister's 
shoulder,  but  its  heavy  pressure  told  her  that  it  was  not 
done  either  unconsciously  or  kindly. 

"  We  all  know  very  well  that  Mollner  never  allows  an 
insult  to  pass  unpunished,"  said  Hilsborn,  "and  you 
should  know  it,  Herr  Herbert,  better  than  any  of  us." 

"True,  I  have  had  occasion  to  be  convinced  of  the 
interest  that  Mollner  takes  in  Fraulein  von  Hartwich, 
although  it  is  by  no  means  so  dangerous  to  correct  an 
erring  professor  as  an  enraged  mob." 

"  What?  what  is  it?"  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and 
the  company  drew  together  in  a  large  group. 

"  Permit  me,"  said  Moritz  in  a  loud  voice  to  Herbert, 
"to  be  the  interpreter  of  my  brother-in-law's  conduct,  as 
I  certainly  understand  it  better  than  a  stranger.  The 
truth  is,  the  Hartwich  was  insulted  by  a  Hochstetten 
mob,  and  my  brother-in-law  interfered  to  prevent  her 
from  receiving  personal  injury." 

"  Ah,"  said  Herbert,  as  if  he  were  comprehending  it 
all  for  the  first  time,  "this,  then,  was  the  generous  motive 
that  took  your  brother  two  miles  from  town  to  that  re- 
tired village?" 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  29 T 

"I  myself  have  never  yet  presumed  to  cross-examine 
my  brother-in-law  as  to  his  motives, — I  leave  the  bold  un- 
dertaking to  you,"  replied  Moritz,  challenging  Herbert 
with  his  keen  glance. 

"  What  can  have  happened  there  ?" 

"  What  did  the  Hartwich  do  ?  A  whole  village  certainly 
does  not  rise  against  a  private  individual  without  some 
cause." 

"This  Hartwich  must  be  a  dreadful  person!"  Such 
were  the  remarks  made  by  one  and  another. 

"  Gentlemen,  let  me  pray  you  to  come  to  supper,"  said 
the  Staatsnithin,  who  was  evidently  embarrassed. 

But  her  invitation  was  unheeded.  All  the  ladies  and 
several  gentlemen  had,  like  hungry  wolves,  had  a  taste 
of  the  interesting  subject,  and  they  were  not  to  be  tempted 
by  the  promise  of  other  food.  There  was  no  end  to  their 
amazement  and  conjectures.  To  be  sure,  it  was  impossible 
to  express  before  Mollner's  relatives  all  that  was  thought, 
but  they  could  gain  some  information  by  their  questions. 

They  could  not  understand  how  Professor  Mollner 
could  befriend  such  a  person.  It  was  no  wonder  that 
public  opinion  was  so  opposed  to  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  Elsa,  "  Christian  love  should  be  shown  to 
every  sinner,  but  this  woman  puts  our  sex  in  such  alight 
that  really  one  blushes  at  being  a  woman.  I  can  say,  with 
Gretchen,  that  humanity  is  dear  to  me,  but  this  Hartwich 
displays  such  shamelessness,  such  vulgarity  of  mind,  that 
it  becomes  the  duty  of  those  possessed  of  any  sensibility 
to  suppress  all  compassion  and  t'o  regard  her  with  abhor- 
rence." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  Friiulein  Elsa,"  Hilsborn  here  inter- 
rupted her,  "  what  becomes  of  your  former  assertion  that 
the  cause  of  the  despised  and  neglected  should  always  be 
espoused  by  the  true  Christian,  as  in  the  case  of  your 
field-flowers  ?" 

Elsa  blushed,  and  stroked  back  her  curls. 

"But,  my  dear  friend,"  remarked  the  botanist,  "the 
Hartwich  is  not  a  field-flower." 

"  Certainly  not  one  that  cows  can  eat,  for  she  is  poison- 
ous," said  Herbert. 

"  Oh,  there  are  reptiles  that  feed  on  hemlock,"  said  old 


298  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Heim  with  irritation.  "  But,  whether  she  be  hemlock  or 
belladonna,  we  all  know  that  both  are  medicinal,  and  she 
might  perhaps  be  useful  as  an  antidote  to  the  affectation 
and  hypocrisy  that  infect  the  feminine  world  of  to-day, 
producing  bigotry,  malice,  and  all  sorts  of  moral  dis- 
eases." 

"  That  was  going  almost  too  far,"  Moritz  whispered  to 
the  old  man,  who  passed  him  grumbling  thus,  with  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him.  "I  cannot  abuse  her  any 
more,  for  Johannes's  sake,  but  I  do  wish  the  devil  had  her 
rather  than  Johannes  should  have  her !" 

Heim  looked  at  him  and  contracted  his  white,  bushy 
eyebrows.  "  To  that  nonsense  all  I  say  is,  we  will  talk 
about  it  at  some  future  time." 

The  Staatsriithiu  approached.  "  Uncle  Heim,  you  are 
blinded  by  your  partiality.  Convince  us  that  this  person 
is  anything  else  than  a  brazen-faced  claimant  for  noto- 
riety, and  God  knows  what  besides, — convince  us  of  this, 
and  we  will  beg  her  pardon, — but,  until  then,  we  must  be 
allowed  to  consider  any  intercourse  with  her,  on  my  son's 
part,  as  a  misfortune.  Now  give  me  your  arm  ;  we  must 
go  to  supper." 

"Yes,  let  us  go.  I  am  tired,  and  shall  be  glad  of 
something  to  eat,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  conducting 
the  Staatsrathin  into  the  house,  where  the  table  was 
laid. 

The  others  followed,  and  Elsa  fluttered  after  them  like 
the  last  swallow  of  autumn.  They  all  entered  the  house 
by  the  large  door  opening  upon  the  garden.  Directly  op- 
posite was  the  door  leading  into  the  street.  They  began, 
laughing  and  talking,  to  ascend  the  stairs  to  the  dining- 
room,  when  a  carriage  drove  up.  The  Staatsrathin,  who 
led  the  way,  stopped  and  listened  intently.  It  might  be 
Johannes. 

The  door  was  at  that  instant  thrown  open,  and  he  ap- 
peared,— but  not  alone.  There  was  a  lady  leaning  on 
his  arm. 

A  murmur  of  surprise  was  heard. 

Johannes  was  quite  as  much  astonished  at  unexpect- 
edly encountering  such  an  assemblage  as  the  guests  were 
at  his  entrance  with  a  veiled  lady,  who  was  evidently 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  299 

embarrassed  and  desirous  to  withdraw  when  she  saw  so 
many  people.  But  Johannes  detained  her.  "  I  pray  you, 
remain,"  he  said  to  her,  "you  have  no  cause  for  alarm." 

The  Staatsrathin  leaned  heavily  upon  Heini's  arm,  her 
knees  trembled  under  her. 

"  Compose  yourself,"  the  old  man  whispered  in  her 
ear.  "  Submit  to  the  inevitable, — remember  that  your 
son  is  master  of  the  house." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it,"  she  replied  softly,  yet  with  bit- 
terness. 

In  the  mean  time,  Johannes  had  reached  the  staircase 
with  the  evidently  reluctant  Ernestine.  "  My  dear  mo- 
ther," he  said,  looking  up  at  her  with  a  face  radiant  with 
pleasure,  "I  bring  you  another  guest." 

The  Staatsrathin  descended  a  couple  of  stairs  with  the 
air  of  one  compelled  to  receive  a  guest  whose  visit  she 
regards  as  anything  but  welcome. 

"  Friiulein  von  Hartwich,"  said  Johannes,  presenting 
her  at  once  to  his  mother  and  his  assembled  friends,  "  has 
been  persuaded  by  me  to  seek  an  asylum  for  this  night 
beneath  our  roof,  as  her  uncle  is  absent  from  home, 
leaving  her  alone  and  defenceless,  the  object  of  a  low, 
and  brutal  conspiracy." 

"  You  are  welcome,  Friiulein  von  Hartwich,"  said  the 
Staatsrathin  with  cold  courtesy,  without  offering  Ernes- 
tine her  hand,  or  relieving  her  embarrassment  in  any  way. 
"  Let  me  entreat  you  to  share  our  simple  meal.  Unfor- 
tunately, we  can  postpone  it  no  longer,  as  we  have  already 
been  obliged  to  wait  some  time  for  my  son." 

And,  without  another  word  to  Ernestine,  she  led  the 
way  with  Heim  to  the  dining-room. 

Ernestine's  heart  throbbed.  What  a  reception  was 
this!  To  what  a  humiliation  had  she  exposed  herself! 
Was  not  running  the  gauntlet  here  a  thousand  times 
worse  than  being  stoned  in  the  village  by  rude  peasants  ? 
"  Let  me  go,"  she  said,  taking  her  hand  from  Johannes's 
arm.  "  I  feel  that  I  am  unwelcome  to  your  mother." 

"  Ernestine,"  said  Johannes,  "  you  are  my  guest,  and 
I  will  not  let  you  go.  Forgive  my  mother's  cold  recep- 
tion. It  is  not  meant  for  you,  but  for  the  distorted  char- 
acter of  you  that  she  has  heard.  Remain,  and  convince 


300  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

her  that  you  are  not  what  she  thinks,  and  you  will  be 
treated  by  her  like  a  daughter/' 

"  Oh,  my  only  friend,  I  obey  you,  but  I  do  it  with  a 
heavy  heart.  It  would  have  been  better  for  you  to  let 
me  go  to  old  Leonhardt  for  a  couple  of  days. " 

"  How  could  you  have  gone  to  old  Leonhardt  ?"  Jo- 
hannes interrupted  her  impatiently.  "It would  have  been 
visited  upon  him  if  he  had  received  you.  And  it  was 
equally  impossible  for  you  to  pass  this  night  alone  in  the 
castle  without  your  uncle.  You  must  be  content  to  re- 
main under  my  protection.  Is  that  so  hard  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Ernestine,  with  a  grateful  look, — "but 
the  others !" 

"  I  am  sorry  that  we  arrived  just  in  the  midst  of  this 
crowd.  Everything  would  have  gone  well  if  we  had  not 
encountered  them  just  upon  the  stairs.  I  would  have 
taken  you  to  my  study,  where  no  one  goes, — you  could 
have  rested  there  until  these  people  were  gone  and  my 
mother  had  prepared  your  room  for  you.  But,  since  they 
have  seen  you,  you  must  not  hide  yourself  like  a  criminal. 
There  are  some  here  who  already  wish  you  well,  and 
many  others  whose  regard  you  will  soon  win." 

"  I  am  far  more  afraid  of  these  people  than  of  the 
angry  peasants,"  said  Ernestine  sorrowfully.  "  I  am  so 
tired!" 

"Poor  child!"  said  Johannes  kindly.  "I  know  you 
are,  but  do  it  for  my  sake.  Will  you  not  ?  I  shall  be 
so  glad  to  have  you  by  my  side,  and  so  proud  to  show 
them  all  that  you  accept  me  as  your  friend." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  do  as  you  say,"  said  Ernestine  sub- 
missively, and  she  ascended  the  stairs  with  Johannes. 

At  the  door  of  the  supper-room  she  laid  aside  her  hat 
and  shawl,  and  he  looked  admiringly  at  her  lovely  pale 
face,  with  the  noble  intellectual  brow  and  the  large  mel- 
ancholy eyes,  and  at  her  tall  slender  figure.  Who  that 
saw  her  could  withstand  her?  He  was  so  proud  of 
her  1 

As  they  entered,  the  guests  stood  around  the  table, 
awaiting  him.  The  impression  that  she  produced  was 
an  extraordinary  one.  It  was  as  if  one  of  those  pale 
ethereal  female  figures  in  Kaulbach's  "Battle  of  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  301 

Huns"  had  stepped  out  of  the  frame.  No  one  had  ever 
seen  before  such  ideal  and  melancholy  beauty  in  real  life. 
In  an  instant  all  were  silent,  and  gazed  earnestly  at  the 
rare  spectacle. 

"By  Jove!  she's  a  dangerous  woman,"  whispered 
Moritz  to  the  Staatsriithin. 

"  Indeed  she  is  !"  she  replied,  scarcely  able  to  take  her 
eyes  away  from  her.  "  My  poor  Johannes  !'' 

"  You  don't  see  such  a  woman  every  day  !"  growled 
old  Heim  with  pride.  "Didn't  I  always  say  she  would 
turn  out  a  beauty  ?" 

"  The  fact  is,  she  is  divine,  and  I  shall  love  her  dearly  ! 
Now  say  what  you  please,"  whispered  Angelika.  And, 
without  waiting  for  a  reply  from  either  husband  or  mother, 
she  flew  across  the  room  to  Ernestine,  who  was  standing 
overwhelmed  with  confusion,  and  cried,  "  Fruuleiu  Er- 
nestine, do  you  not  remember  me  ?" 

Ernestine  looked  at  her  for  a  few  seconds.  "  This  must 
be  little  Angelika." 

"Rightly  guessed,"  said  the  young  wife,  and,  standing 
on  tiptoe,  she  pressed  her  rosy  lips  to  Ernestine's  delicate 
mouth. 

Then  Moritz  approached,  and  said  in  his  blunt,  half- 
jesting  way,  "  And  I  am  the  husband  of  this  wife.  My 
name  is  Kern,  and  I  am,  besides,  one  of  the  monsters  who 
had  the  courage  to  close  the  doors  of  our  lecture-rooms 
in  the  face  of  a  most  beautiful  woman." 

Ernestine  opened  her  eyes  wide  at  this  address,  but, 
appreciating  his  humour,  smiled  gently. 

"And  indeed,"  he  continued,  "I  do  not  repent  in  the 
least  that  I  did  so,  now  that  I  see  you, — for  not  a  student 
would  ever  have  learned  anything  with  such  a  comrade 
beside  him." 

Ernestine  cast  down  her  eyes,  and,  confused  and 
ashamed,  said  not  a  word. 

Moritz  turned  from  her,  and,  with  a  paternal  tap  upon 
Johannes's  shoulder,  said  to  him,  "  Upon  my  word,  you're 
not  to  blame  for  admiring  her." 

"Men  are  all  alike,"  said  the  Staatsrathin  in  a  whisper 
to  Frau  Professor  Meibert.  "  My  son-in-law,  who  never  has 

26 


302  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

a  word  to  say  to  any  woman  but  his  wife,  is  already  be- 
witched by  her  pretty  face." 

"  Yes,  and  there  is  my  husband  making  his  way  towards 
her,"  was  the  reply.  "It  must  be  admitted  that  she  is 
quiet  and  modest." 

"  Still  waters  run  deep  !"  said  the  Staatsrathin. 

"  Yes,  that's  true  !"  said  the  other  with  a  nod. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Herr  Professor,"  said  Taun's  wife 
to  Herbert  with  an  admiring  glance  at  Ernestine,  "  of 
our  having  tableaux  vivants  next  winter  ?  Would  it  not 
be  beautiful  to  have  her  with  Angelika  for  the  two  Leo- 
noras ?" 

"Better  try  Hercules  and  Omphale.  Let  the  Hartwich 
be  Omphale,  and  set  Professor  Mollner  at  the  spinning- 
wheel.  That  would  make  a  charming  picture !"  remarked 
Herbert. 

"  1  hear  you  do  not  like  her,"  said  Frau  Taun,  "  but 
now  that  I  see  her  I  cannot  believe  all  the  terrible  things 
that  are  told  of  her.  And  Mollner,  too.  is  not  the  mail  to 
seat  himself  at  the  spinning-wheel,  even  though  she  were 
Omphale, — your  characters  do  not  fit." 

Herbert  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Now,  my  dear  friend,"  Mollner's  clear  voice  was  heard 
saying,  "allow  me  to  make  you  more  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  your  friends  and  foes.  Here  is  an  old 
friend  of  yours,  Professor  Hilsborn.  Do  you  not  re- 
member him  ?" 

"  We  met  once  at  a  children's  party,"  Hilsborn  ex- 
plained, "  and  you,  with  the  rest  of  us,  threw  stones  at  a 
glass  ball  tossed  up  by  a  fountain.  You  came  off  from 
the  contest  victorious,  and  were  the  object  of  envy  and 
hostility  in  consequence." 

Ernestine  blushed.  "  Oh,  yes,  now  I  know.  You  were 
that  gentle,  amiable  boy, — the  adopted  son  of  Dr.  Heini ; 
but — where — where  is  Dr.  Heim?" 

"  Here  he  is,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  fixing  his  pene- 
trating eyes  upon  her.  Ernestine  held  out  her  hand,  but 
she  could  not  endure  his  glance,  and  her  own  sought  the 
ground. 

"  Oh,  Father  Heim, — may  I  still  call  you  so?" 

"That's  right,"  cried  the  old  man.     "Then  you  have 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   TEE  SOUL.  303 

not  forgotten?"  And  he  laid  his  hand  kindly  upon  her 
head. 

"  How  could  I  forget  you,  when  you  saved  ray  life  ?" 

"Aha."  said  Heim  to  her  so  softly  that  no  one  else 
could  hear  what  he  was  saying,  "don't  be  afraid  child, — 
I  shall  stand  up  for  you  before  all  these  people,  but  to 
you  yourself  I  must  say  that  ray  heart  bleeds  for  you, 
and  that  if  I  did  not  hope  that  all  the  stupid  stuff  with 
which  your  little  head  is  crammed  would  one  day  give 
place  to  something  infinitely  better,  I  should  almost  re- 
pent patching  it  up  in  days  gone  by.  Don't  be  vexed, 
my  child,  you  don't  like  to  hear  this  from  me, — per- 
haps you  may  be  better  pleased  to  hear  it  from  some 
one  else.  And  now  God  bless  your  coming  to  this 
house !" 

Ernestine  made  no  reply,  but  his  words  produced  a 
deep  impression  upon  her.  A  tear  trembled  upon  her 
eyelashes  as  she  stood  silently  before  him.  Mollner  then 
gave  her  his  arm,  and  they  all  took  their  seats  at  table. 
Heim  sat  upon  her  right  hand,  and  Taun  and  Hilsborn 
were  opposite  her.  Then*  came  Moritz  with  Angelika, 
and  Herbert  with  Frau  Taun,  while  the  Staatsriithin  sat 
upon  Heim's  right. 

"  Permit  me  to  present  my  friend  Professor  Taun,"  said 
Mollner  after  they  were  seated. 

"  A  friend !"  added  the  latter  to  Mollner's  words. 

"  He  is  one  of  those  who  voted  in  your  favour,"  Moll- 
ner explained. 

"  I  Uiank  you,"  said  Ernestine,  "  in  the  name  of  my  sex." 

"  I  cannot  appropriate  all  your  thanks  to  myself.  They 
are  due  first  to  my  dear  friends  Heim  and  Hilsborn,  for 
they  fought  for  you  more  bravely  than  I,  to  whom  you 
were  personally  a  stranger." 

"  Really,  Father  Heim,  did  you  vote  for  me  ?"  asked 
Ernestine  in  surprise. 

"Well,  yes,"  grumbled  Heim,  vexed  that  Taun  had 
told  of  it.  "  The  thing  that  you  sent  in  was  not  bad,  and 
I  would  have  liked  to  open  a  wider  field  for  your  rest- 
less spirit,  where  you  might  find  something  better  to 
do," — here  he  sunk  his  bass  voice  to  a  whisper, — "than 
abuse  God  Almighty  as  a  dog  bays  the  moon,  and 


304  ONLY  A    GIRL ; 

make  all  honest  folk  your  enemies  with  your  atheistical 
stuff." 

Ernestine  started  with  a  sudden  shock.  Was  this,  then, 
urged  against  her  ?  She  was  amazed.  Were  there  really 
people  in  these  enlightened  circles  who  could  be  shocked 
at  her  skepticism  ?  Had  Leuthold  spoken  falsely  when  he 
assured  her  that  true  culture  was  synonymous  with  eman- 
cipation from  all  religious  prejudices?  And  who  were 
the  cultivated  class,  if  these  professors  and  their  wives 
were  not  ? 

"Are  you  wounded  by  our  friend's  rough  manner  ?" 
asked  Taun,  sorry  for  Ernestine's  confusion.  "  You  must 
know  of  old  what  a  noble  kernel  is  concealed  within  that 
rough  shell." 

"  Who  is  talking  about  me  ?"  Moritz  cried  out  to  them. 
"I  am  sure  I  heard  'noble  Kern,'  and  that  must  be 
meant  for  me." 

"  Let  those  three  alone,  you  vain  fellow  1"  laughed 
Johannes,  signing  to  him  not  to  disturb  their  grave  dis- 
course. 

Ernestine  looked  sadly  at  Heim.  "  Father  Heim  used 
to  be  kinder  to  me.  He  was  never  so  harsh  to  me 
before." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Heim  in  a  low  voice.  "Then 
you  were  a  thing  made  of  blotting-paper,  that  a  breath 
might  have  destroyed.  We  were  content  only  to  keep 
you  alive,  and,  as  is  apt  to  be  the  case  with  delicate 
children,  we  forgot,  in  our  anxiety  about  your  physical 
health,  to  take  due  care  of  your  mind." 

"Well,  well,  never  mind  that  now,"  said  Taun.  "I 
am  not  at  all  afraid  that  you  will  long  fail  of  finding  the 
right.  Your  writings  give  evidence  of  such  uncommon 
talent  that  I  should  not  wonder  if  you  became  the  most 
learned  woman  of  the  age." 

Ernestine's  eyes  flashed.  She  raised  her  head  like  a 
thirsty  flower  in  a  summer  rain.  "  The  most  learned 
woman  of  the  age  !"  The  words  touched  her  weak  point, 
and  penetrated  the  inner  sanctuary  of  her  ambition.  Heirn's 
harshness  was  forgotten.  "  How  can  you  say  this  to  me, 
in  a  century  that  has  produced  a  Caroline  Herschel  and 
a  Dorothea  Rodde  ?" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  305 

Herbert,  who  from  a  distance  had  been  listening  to  the 
conversation,  turned  to  Moritz  and  asked  him  in  a  low 
voice,  "Who  is  Dorothea  Rodde  ?  Of  course  I  have 
heard  of  HerschePs  sister, — just  because  she  was  Her- 
chel's  sister, — but  I  know  nothing  of  the  other." 

"Don't  ask  me,"  laughed  Moritz.  "I  have  too  much 
to  do  to  busy  myself  about  the  wonders  worked  by  all 
the  blue-stockings  immortalized  in. the  pages  of  trashy 
annuals." 

Ernestine  shot  an  angry  .glance  at  him.  She  had  heard 
what  was  said,  and  she  was  indignant. 

It  was  the  drop  too  much  when  Angelika  asked  across 
the  table,  "Johannes,  pray  tell  us — the  gentlemen  want 
to  know — who  Dorothea  Rodde  is." 

Johannes  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "  I  do  not  know." 

"What,  you!  Do  you  not  know?"  said  Ernestine. 
"Is  it  possible!  Does  no  one  know  that  woman — the 
famous  daughter  of  that  great  man  Schlager?  She  only 
died  in  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-four,  and  is  she  for- 
gotten already  ?" 

"She  cannot  have  materially  advanced  the  cause  of 
science,"  said  Johannes,  "  or  she  would  not  have  been 
forgotten." 

"  Such  a  rarely-endowed  individual  as  this  woman 
must,  I  should  suppose,  always  be  an  object  of  scientific 
interest,  even  if  she  did  not  directly  advance  the  cause 
of  science  itself.  It  must  surely  be  interesting  to  physi- 
ologists, as  well  as  to  psychologists,  that  a  woman  has 
lived  capable  of  learning  all  that  Dorothea  Rodde  learned, 
even  although  she  taught  nothing.  All  cannot  create. 
Many  men  have  been  held  in  high  esteem  for  diligence 
alone.  Besides,  Dorothea  would  have  achieved  greatness 
if  she  had  not  committed  the  folly  of  marrying,  thus 
arresting  her  scientific  development  in  the  bud  and  re- 
tiring entirely  from  public  view.  She  buried  herself 
alive,  and  the  world  is  always  ready  to  strew  ashes 
upon  a  woman's  coffin.  Had  she  been  a  man,  every  one 
would  have  known  that,  when  a  boy  of  seventeen,  he  could 
speak  all  the  dead  and  living  languages,  was  thoroughly 
versed  in  chemistry,  medicine,  anatomy,  and  mineralogy, 
and  in  his  eighteenth  year,  after  a  brilliant  examination, 

26* 


306  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

received  the  degree  of  doctor  of  philosophy  from  the  Uni- 
versity of  Gottingen  !  But  it  was  only  a  girl  who  achieved 
all  this  thus  early;  and  if  the  less  envious  time  in  which 
she  studied  acknowledged  her  superiority,  the  more  pru- 
dent present  ignores  it  all  the  more  utterly." 

A  painful  silence  ensued.  Every  one  was  busied  with 
his  or  her  own  thoughts.  Every  one  felt  confused.  This 
beautiful,  placid  Er-nestine  had  suddenly  showed  her 
claws  ! 

The  Staatsriithin  silently  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork, 
— she  had  lost  all  desire  to  eat. 

Johannes  looked  sadly  at  Ernestine,  and  gently  shook 
his  head.  Herbert  alone  grew  more  cheerful  as  the  rest 
seemed  disturbed,  and  looked  down  the  table  at  Elsa,  who 
sat  at  the  other  end,  lost  in  melancholy  reverie  as  she 
drew  several  flowers  and  grasses  out  of  the  large  vase  on 
the  table,  intending,  like  Ophelia,  to  deck  herself  with 
them  ;  but,  alas,  Hamlet  had  no  eyes  for  her  sweet  mad- 
ness! 

"  May  I  request  you  to  present  me  to  the  lady  ?"  Her- 
bert asked  Johannes. 

"Herr  Professor  Herbert,"  said  the  latter,  and  added 
with  emphasis,  "your  bitterest  opponent!" 

Ernestine  bowed  slightly  and  looked  coldly  at  Her- 
bert. 

"Permit  me,"  he  began  sneeringly,  "to  beg  you  to 
inform  me,  Fraulein  von  Hartwich, — I  ask  solely  for  in- 
struction in  the  matter, — what  possible  scientific  interest 
the  fact  that  a  woman  spoke  several  languages — she 
could  hardly  have  spoken  all,  as  you  declared — could 
possess." 

"Yes,  I  too  am  curious  upon  that  point!"  cried  Moritz. 

Ernestine  looked  gravely  from  one  to  the  other.  "I 
am  quite  ready  to  explain  it  to  you.  I  should  not,  indeed, 
have  ventured  to  do  so  if  you  had  not  asked  me,  for  it 
would  have  seemed  to  me  insulting  to  suppose  that  you 
could  need  any  such  explanation." 

"That  shot  told,"  Moritz  remarked  comically. 

"We  are  foes,  gentlemen,  and  I  am  bent  upon  vic- 
tory," said  Ernestine.  "I  think  the  facility  of  acqui- 
sition shown  by  Dorothea  llodde  is  certainly  as  sig- 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  307 

nificant  a  fact  in  natural  history  as  any  example  of  extraor- 
dinary instinct  in  animals,  for  which  zoologists  search 
so  untiringly.  Or  is  the  natural  history  of  women  less 
interesting  than  that  of  the  ape?" 

"We  are  not  used  to  compare  or  to  speak  of  women 
thus,"  Moll  tier  interposed. 

"Then,  if  you  really  accord  us  an  equality  with  men  in 
the  scale  of  creation,  Dorothea's  eminent  talent  must  cer- 
tainly be  of  scientific  interest,  because  it  must  assist  in 
the  investigation  of  the  relative  weight  of  the  masculine 
and  feminine  brain, — a  point  not  yet  solved,  the  social 
importance  of  which  is  not  recognized,  or  it  would  not 
be  treated  with  such  frivolous  indifference.  I,  gentle- 
men, am  convinced  that  the  great  contest  for  the  eman- 
cipation of  woman  can  be  settled  only  through  physi- 
ology, since  that  alone  can  prove  whether  the  material 
conditions  of  the  thinking  mechanism  are  equal  in  men 
and  women;  and,  if  they  are,  who  would  deny  a  woman 
the  right  to  assert  her  independence  of  man,  even  in  the 
world  of  the  intellect?" 

"But  we  have  not  yet  reached  this  point,"  said  Jo- 
hannes. "This  equality  has  not  yet  been  proved." 

"Nor  has  the  contrary,"  said  Ernestine.  "Therefore 
it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  well  worth  while  for 
physiology  to  come  to  the  aid  of  history,  and  test  the 
material  brain  of  famous  women." 

"And  what  end  would  that  serve?" 

"  Can  you  ask  that  question  seriously?  Would  not  the 
result  of  such  investigations,  if  it  were  favourable  to 
women,  strike  a  blow  at  our  present  social  arrangements 
in  the  relations  of  the  sexes  ?  And  would  not  the  render- 
ing such  an  aid  to  true  social  harmony  be  a  triumph  for 
physiology,  of  which  it  might  well  be  proud?" 

"It  would  be  all  very  well,"  said  Moritz,  "if  the 
whole  question  were  worth  the  trouble." 

"Of  course  it  is  not  worth  it  for  you,  but  it  is  for  us. 
What  do  men  care  about  the  position  of  woman, — her 
capacity  or  her  incapacity?  If  your  wives  fill  their  po- 
sition,— that  is,  if  they  are  your  obedient  servants,  have 
sufficient  capacity  for  cooking,  and  can  bring  up  your 
children, — all  is  as  it  should  be,  as  far  as  you  are  con- 


308  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

cerned,  and  the  most  important  problem  of  mankind,  in 
the  social  system,  is  solved  to  your  satisfaction.'' 

A  unanimous  murmur  arose  at  this  accusation,  hut 
Ernestine  was  now  greatly  excited,  and  she  continued, 
"It  was  the  pain  I  felt  at  this  narrow-minded  indifference 
that  led  me  to  devote  myself  to  natural  science.  I  will 
do  what  I  can  to  induce  scientific  men  to  turn  their  at- 
tention in  this  direction.  Do  not  smile:  even  if  I  can  do 
nothing  for  this  cause  myself,  I  would  cheerfully  dedicate 
my  existence  to  arousing  the  interest  of  others  in  the 
subject.  If  I  can  prevail  upon  some  less  scrupulous  uni- 
versity to  afford  me  an  opportunity  for  pursuing  the 
requisite  anatomical  and  physiological  studies,  these 
physical  and  psychical  investigations  shall  be  the  sole 
occupation  of  my  life." 

"But,  Friiulein  von  Hartwich,"  said  Johannes  se- 
riously, "what  would  you  discover  that  could  further 
your  desires?  We  have  proved  conclusively  that  the 
feminine  brain  absolutely  weighs  less  than  the  mascu- 
line, and " 

1  Have  you  proved  that  superiority  depends  only  upon 
weight  ?" 

"A'ot  precisely,  but  it  certainly  does  in  most  in- 
stances." 

"In  most  instances?  but  if  it  is  not  proved  to  do  so  in 
all,  the  question  is  far  from  settled.  It  is  true  that  Byron, 
Cuvier,  and  others  had  remarkably  weighty  brains,  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  brains  of  certain  philosophers,  as,  for 
example,  Hermann  and  Hausmann,  weighed  less  than  the 
ordinary  feminine  brain.  We  are  then  led  to  suspect  that 
superiority  depends  upon  the  relation  of  the  brain  to  the 
rest  of  the  body, — perhaps  upon  the  relation  of  different 
portions  of  the  brain  to  each  other,  or  the  quantity  of  the 
gray  matter.  The  only  sure  acquisition  that  physiology 
may  be  able  to  boast  in  this  matter  is  that  the  relative 
weight  of  the  feminine  is  not  lighter  than  that  of  the 
masculine  brain."  Her  eyes  glowed  with  enthusiasm. 
"Oh,  how  gladly  would  1  die  if  I  could  only  succeed 
in  casting  a  ray  of  light  upon  this  chaos!" 

"But,  Frsiulein  von  Hartwich, "Herbert  began  with  an 
ex  cathedra  air,  "  as  woman  is  in  all  respects  weaker  and 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  309 

more  delicate  than  man,  is  it  not  natural  that  her  brain 
also  should  be  smaller  and  lighter;  rendering  her  incapa- 
ble of  as  great  intellectual  exertion?" 

"But,  Herr  Professor,"  replied  Ernestine  with  a  slight 
smile,  "I  havre  just  said  that  superiority  depended  upon 
the  relative,  not  the  absolute,  weight.  Were  it  otherwise, 
the  largest  and  strongest  man  would  be  the  wisest,  and 
you,  sir,  would  have  less  ability  than  any  one  present, 
for  you  are  the  smallest  man  here." 

Again  there  was  an  embarrassed  silence.  Many  could 
scarcely  suppress  their  laughter  as  they  saw  the  angry 
look  of  the  little  man.  Others  found  the  scene  painful  to 
witness.  Such  conduct  on  the  part  of  a  lady  was  un- 
precedented in  the  annals  of  professorial  gatherings,  and, 
although  those,  who  were  acquainted  with  Ernestine 
found  her  behaviour  perfectly  natural  from  her  stand- 
point, strangers  to  her  were  inexpressibly  shocked, — none 
more  so  than  the  Staatsrathin,  to  whom  the  girl's  every 
word  was  like  acid  to  an  open  wound. 

It  was  the  old  story  over  again.  She  was  unlike  the 
others,  and,  without  meaning  it,  frightened  them  all  away. 
Wherever  she  went,  the  curse  of  eccentricity  attached  to 
her.  No  one  shared  her  interests, — she  had  nothing  in 
common  with  any  one, — she  was,  and  must  continue  to  be, 
alone  !  Even  Johannes  grew  thoughtful  and  silent.  She 
timidly  sought  his  eye,  but  he  did  not  look  at  her. 

Elsa,  although  she  had  no  public,  was  still  playing 
Ophelia,  and  was  pondering  upon  the  sweetness  of  the 
service  she  could  render  if  it  were  only  asked  of  her.  Ah, 
no  one  wanted  to  see  how  charmingly  she  could  obey. 
And  she  softly  hummed  to  herself,  in  English,  Ophelia's 
words, 

"  Larded  all  with  sweet  flowers, 
Which  bewept  to  the  grave  did  go 
With  true-love  showers." 

Frau  Taun  looked  gravely  across  at  Ernestine.  She 
ceased  to  anticipate  tableaux  vivanls, — nothing  could  be 
done  with  such  material.  And  then  the  conversation  at 
table  !  She  really  could  not  expose  her  young  guests  to 
listen  to  anatomical  treatises. 

Herbert  noticed  the  breach  that  had  been  made  in  Frau 


310  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Taun's  good  opinion,  and  hastened  to  throw  a  bombshell 
into  it.  "  She  has  not  the  slightest  sense  of  refinement." 

The  ladies  in  the  vicinity  nodded  assent. 

Heaven  be  thanked  !  this  combination  of  beauty  and 
learning  was  wanting  in  what  they  possessed  in  fullest 
measure,  and  she  had  already  succeeded  in  making  her- 
self disagreeable  to  the  gentlemen  who  had  been  so  im- 
pressed by  her  appearance. 

One  lady  plucked  the  sleeve  of  her  neighbour.  "  See 
her  sit  with  her  elbows  upon  the  table !"  ' 

"  How  coarse  !" 

"  There  now,  see  how  quickly  you  have  made  enemies 
of  all  these  people,"  whispered  old  Heim.  "  You  are  not 
wrong  from  your  point  of  view, — but  where  is  the  use  of 
battering  so  at  the  door  of  a  house  where  you  have  been 
received  as  a  guest?  If  you  wish  to  associate  with  man- 
kind, you  must  not  go  about  treading  upon  their  toes." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  associate  with  these  people,"  said 
Ernestine. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do  !  You  must  wish  it.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  you  need  no  help,  no  support, — that  you  can 
get  along  entirely  alone  in  the  world  ?  How  unpractical ! 
how  terribly  exaggerated  1" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Father  Heim." 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  do " 

Angelika  here  interrupted  the  conversation,  saying,  as 
she  handed  Ernestine  a  plate  of  apricot  creme,  which  was 
greatly  lauded,  "  You  must  eat  some  of  this,  Friiulein 
Ernestine.  I  made  it  myself,  and  I  ani  very  proud 
of  it." 

"  You  have  just  heard  how  Friiulein  von  Hartwich 
despises  the  noble  art  of  cookery.  Don't  pride  yourself 
upon  it  before  her,"  sneered  Moritz. 

Angelika  compassionated  Ernestine's  mortification  at 
these  words,  and,  while  the  other  ladies  were  deep  in  a 
discussion  regarding  the  preparation  of  the  delicious 
creme,  she  said  kindly,  "  You  are  quite  right  in  lamenting 
that  we  women  attach  so  much  importance  to  such 
things,  but  they  are  part  of  our  daily  life,  and  we  can- 
not entirely  ignore  them.  Why  did  God  give  us  organs 
of  taste,  if  we  are  not  to  enjoy  the  flavour  of  our  food  ? 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  311 

It  is  so  natural  to  try  to  make  the  life  of  those  whom  we 
love  pleasant,  even  by  the  most  trivial  means,  amongst 
which  are  justly  ranked  eating  and  drinking ." 

"  Forgive  me  for  asking  the  question,"  said  Ernestine, 
"  but  could  not  their  enjoyment  be  equally  well  secured 
by  the  hands  of  a  cook  while  you  were  employing  your 
time  with  something  better  ?" 

"  Yes,"  cried  Angelika,  amid  general  amusement,  "if 
we  had  the  money  to  pay  eighty  gulden  for  an  excel- 
lent cook.  But,  as  we  have  not,  one  must  either  super- 
intend matters  one's  self,  or  put  up  with  bad  cooking. 
And  you  would  not  have  a  poor  man,  coming  hungry  and 
tired  from  his  day's  work,  do  that.  No,  I  assure  you, 
when  I  see  Moritz  enjoying  something  that  I  have  pre- 
pared for  him  myself,  it  gives  me  almost  as  much  pleasure 
as  it  does  to  feed  a  child." 

Ernestine  looked  at  her  blankly.  This  was  entirely 
beyond  her  horizon. 

Angelika  continued:  "But  indeed  it  does  not  make 
us  servants.  A  service  rendered  for  love  cannot  degrade, 
— voluntary  obedience  is  not  slavery.  We  must  be  guided 
by  some  one  in  life, — why  not  by  a  husband  who  pro- 
tects and  labours  for  us  ?"  And  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
Moritz. 

"  But,"  said  Ernestine,  "  if  we  learn  to  labour  for  our- 
selves we  need  be  beholden  to  no  one, — dependent  upon 
no  one." 

"  Oh,"  said  Angelika,  with  a  charming  smile  and  a 
roguish  glance  at  Moritz  out  of  her  large  innocent  eyes, 
"  we  cannot  do  without  them,  these  stern  lords  of  crea- 
tion,— at  least  I  could  not  live  without  Moritz,  if  I  were 
ever  so  rich  and  wise." 

Loud  applause  greeted  this  frank  declaration  ;  it  seemed 
as  if  a  sudden  breath  of  fresh  air  were  admitted  into  a 
sultry,  closed  apartment, — all  breathed  more  freely.  An- 
gelika's  genuine  sunny  nature  was  a  relief  to  every  one, 
after  the  distorted,  gloomy  views  that  Ernestine  had 
broached. 

"And  you  expect  to  bring  that  fool  to  reason  ?"  whis- 
pered Moritz  to  Johannes. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  latter  curtly. 


312  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  all  success.  I  would  not  win  a 
wife  at  such  a  price." 

Supper  was  ended.  The  Staatsrathin  rose  from  table, 
and  the  company  adjourned  to  the  adjoining  room,  where 
punch  was  served. 

Johannes  silently  conducted  Ernestine  thither.  His 
duties  as  host  then  compelled  him  to  leave  her.  She  stood 
alone  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  looking  around  for  some 
one  to  whom  she  might  turn.  No  one  came  near  her. 
The  ladies  whispered  together,  casting  occasional  glances 
in  her  direction,  and  the  gentlemen  stood  about  in  groups, 
either  turning  their  backs  upon  Ernestine  or  eyeing  her 
through  their  glasses.  She  stood  alone,  as  upon  the 
stage  before  an  audience.  She  did  not  know  what  to 
do.  It  seemed  cowardly  and  undignilied  to  flee  for 
refuge  to  a  corner,  and  yet  this  cross-fire  of  keen  eyes 
\vas  as  hard  to  endure  as  it  had  been  years  before  at  the 
Staatsrath  in's.  What  did  her  intellect  or  learning  avail 
her  now?  She  was  as  much  shunned,  despised,  and 
misunderstood  among  people  of  refinement  and  culture 
as  by  the  peasants.  What  fatality  was  it  that  thus  at- 
tended her?  Who  would  solve  the  riddle  for  her  ? 

An  unexpected  end  was  put  to  her  torment.  Elsa 
glided  up  to  her  upon  Mollner's  arm. 

"  Fraulein  Herbert  wishes  to  be  presented  to  you,"  he 
said. 

Ernestine  gazed  in  amazement  at  the  strange  flower- 
crowned  elderly  child,  and  took  with  some  hesitation  the 
damp,  withered  little  hand  held  out  to  her. 

"  I  begged  my — our  friend — "  she  looked  round,  but 
Mollner  had  again  joined  the  other  guests — "  to  make  us 
acquainted  with  each  other,  because  I  feel  myself  so 
strangely  drawn  towards  you.  Your  observations  upon 
the  brain  impressed  me  greatly, — for  1  too  am  wild 
about  natural  science,  and  am  myself  half  scientific.  I 
dote  on  phrenology.  I  am  a  disciple  of  Schcwe's,  whose 
striking  diagnosis  of  my  characteristics  converted  me  1o 
Gall's  theory.  Heavens!  what  a  delight  it  would  be  to 
discuss  this  subject  with  you,  who  have  studied  the 
brain  so  thoroughly!  I  am  sure  we  should  understand 
one  another.  You  must  let  me  examine  your  head — so 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  313 

remarkable  a  head  for  a  woman.    "What  a  treat  it  will  be 
forme!     Come, — pray  sit  down." 

Ernestine  made  an  impatient  gesture  of  refusal. 

"  What !  you  do  not  wish  it  ?  Oh,  don't  be  afraid  that 
I  shall  prove  an  enfant  terrible  and  tell  what  I  discover. 
I  never  tell  tales." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that,"  replied  Ernestine  bluntly. 
"  If  you  could  discover  my  character  from  the  shape  of 
my  skull,  there  would  be  no  need  of  your  silence.  I 
have  nothing  to  conceal.  But  I  take  no  interest  in  such 
nonsense." 

"  Nonsense  do  you  call  it  ?"  cried  Elsa,  clasping  her 
withered  hands.  "  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  Gall's 
doctrine  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  believe?"  said  Ernestine.  "  I 
do  not  believe  in  anything  that  has  not  been  proved, 
and  when  an}Tthing  has  been  proved  I  do  not  believe  it, 
— I  know  it.  Gall's  theory  is  like  Lavater's  physiognomy, 
an  hypothesis  based  upon  coincidences,  fit  only  to  amuse 
idlers,  but  not  worthy  the  attention  of  an  earnest  labourer 
in  the  cause  of  science." 

"  Oh,  you  cut  me  to  the  heart,"  sighed  Elsa,  who  saw 
the  scientific  nimbus  with  which  she  had  crowned  her 
brows  thus  falling  off  like  a  theatrical  halo  of  gold-paper. 
She  was  greatly  offended.  She  had  meant  so  well, — for 
Mollner's  sake  she  had  conquered  herself  and  attempted 
to  make  a  friend  of  Ernestine.  He  should  see  how  her 
wounded  but  self-renouncing  heart  would  open  to  her 
rival.  She  had  been  so  glad  not  to  come  quite  empty- 
handed  to  this  learned  woman ;  for,  as  far  as  she  had 
understood  the  anatomical  conversation  at  table,  it  coin- 
cided wonderfully  with  Gall's  theory,  which  she  had 
lately  mastered  that  she  might  have  the  pleasure  of  sub- 
jecting Mollner's  head  to  an  examination.  And  now, 
just  as  she  had  hoped  to  recommend  herself  to  him  whom 
she  loved  by  her  one  little  bit  of  scientific  acquirement, 
even  this  unselfish  pleasure  was  denied  her,  and  the  at- 
tempt had  failed  entirely.  Oh,  Ernestine  was  a  hard — a 
terrible  woman  ! 

While  Elsa  had  been  talking  to  Ernestine,  the  gentle- 
men had  cast  significant  glances  towards  them,  and  said 

27 


314  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

among  themselves,  "  There  is  a  wonderful  combination, 
— the  Hartwich  and  Fraulein  Elsa !  It  must  be  worth 
studying." 

And  so  they  gradually  drew  near  the  two  women.  At 
last,  Moritz,  who,  like  a  child  with  its  doll,  always  had 
his  wife  hanging  on  his  arm,  could  not  refrain  from  join- 
ing in  the  conversation,  for  he  pursued  a  jest  like  a  boy 
after  a  butterfly.  "  Tell  me,  then,  Fraulein  Elsa,  what 
did  Schewe  say  to  your  head?"  he  asked. 

"  What  ?"  and  Elsa  smiled  diffidently.  What  an  at- 
traction she  possessed  for  the  other  sex !  Here  were  all 
the  gentlemen  gathered  around  her  again.  "  What?  oh, 
modesty  forbids  me  to  tell  you." 

"  Then  he  was  very  conipliniental?" 

"  He  was  indeed." 

"  That  was  the  reason,  then,  you  found  his  diagnosis  so 
striking,"  laughed  Moritz. 

Elsa  became  embarrassed. 

"  That  is  just  what  makes  that  man  so  successful," 
said  Moritz.  "  He  flatters  every  one,  and  therefore  every 
one  believes  him." 

"  Oh,  you  do  him  great  injustice  1"  Elsa  remonstrated. 
"  He  is  so  in  earnest  about  his  science.  He  can  be  quite 
rude.  He  would  certainly  be  rude  to  you,  Professor 
Kern." 

The  gentlemen  all  laughed.    "  Fraulein  Elsa  is  severe." 

" Dove-feather'd  raven!  wolfish-ravening  lamb!" 

quoted  the  youthful  tutor. 

"  Oh,  I  admire  the  man  so  much,"  said  the  offended 
lady,  "he  is  an  adept  in  the  sense  of  touch, — really  he 
not  only  feels,  he  thinks  and  sees,  with  the  tips  of  his 
fingers.  After  he  had  examined  my  head,  and  was  stand- 
ing aside  with  closed  eyes,  as  if  to  recapitulate  mentally 
what  he  had  discovered,  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was 
actually  holding  my  soul  in  his  closed  hand,  like  a  bird 
just  taken  from  the  nest." 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  did  not  keep  it." 

"  Oh,  no  !  he  gave  it  back  to  me  ;  he  presented  me  with 
it  anew  in  teaching  me  to  understand  it." 

"  Well,  if  he  has  initiated  you  into -the  mystery  of  his 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  315 

art,  Fraulein  Elsa,  oblige  us  with  some  of  it  now.  There 
ought  to  be  all  sorts  of  fledgelings  to  take  out  of  these 
nests,  and  we  really  would  like  to  have  a  glimpse  of  our 
souls." 

"  I  asked  Friiulein  von  Hartwich  just  now  to  let  me 
examine  her  head,  but  she  would  not  allow  it." 

"  But  we  are  all  ready  for  it,"  cried  Moritz,  bowing  his 
head,  as  did  several  of  the  other  gentlemen. 

"  Pray  don't,"  Angelika  entreated  her  husband. 

"  Dear  Angelika,"  said  Etsa,  determined  to  be  interest- 
ing to-day  at  all  risks,  "  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  the  trial, 
for  I  am  confident  of  success.  But  it  must  be  seriously 
undertaken.  The  gentlemen  must  be  disguised  so  that  I 
cannot  recognize  them." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  right !  It  will  be  delightful !"  cried 
the  gentlemen,  to  whose  gaiety  the  punch  perhaps  had 
lent  some  assistance. 

"  Friiulein  Elsa  must  leave  the  room  while  we  disguise 
ourselves." 

"  I  will  wait  for  a  while  in  the  garden,  where  it  is  far 
more  charming  to  see  the  elves  sipping  the  dew  than  you, 
gentlemen,  drinking  your  punch.  Call  me  when  you  are 
ready,  and  I  will  come,  and,  like  a  bee  among  the  flower- 
cups,  dip  into  your  heads  and  find  out  whether  they  con- 
tain honey  or  gall." 

With  this  arch  threat  she  was  hurrying  away,  when 
Ernestine  took  her  hand  compassionately  and  whispered 
in  her  ear,  "  Do  not  do  it,  you  will  only  be  laughed  at." 

Greatly  offended,  Elsa  withdrew  her  hand.  "  By  you, 
perhaps,  but  only  by  you.  My  friends  here  understand  me 
and  love  me  !"  The  tears  rushed  to  her  little  eyes,  and 
she  hastened  out,  without  hearing  Herbert  call  after  her, 
"  You  will  disgrace  yourself." 

She  hurried  down  into  the  garden,  to  confide  her  griefs 
to  the  elves  and  fairies.  She  would  endure  smilingly,  no 
one  should  know  what  she  had  dared  to  dream, — to  hope. 
But  could  her  faithful  heart  at  once  resign  all  hope  ?  Pa- 
tient waiting  had  before  now  been  crowned  with  success. 
She  went  to  the  spot  where  Angelika  had  left  the  flowers 
that  she  had  given  her  for  Johannes.  The  glass  was 
overturned,  the  water  spilled,  and  the  flowers  were  scat- 


316  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

tered  about  withered.  How  sorry  she  was !  It  was  a  bad 
omen.  She  picked  up  her  favourites  and  pressed  them  to 
her  heart.  "  Thus  will  it  perhaps  be  one  day  with  me. 
I  shall  fade  away,"  she  thought,  "forgotten  and  neglected 
like  you,  and  the  only  proof  of  affection  that  can  then  be 
mine  will  be  that  some  tender  soul  may  lay  upon  my  cof- 
fin a  wreath  of  you,  sweet  flowers  of  the  field  !" 

She  seated  herself  upon  the  grass  and  sung  softly,  while 
her  tears  dropped  upon  the  flowers, 

"  Ah,  tears  will  not  bring  back  your  beauty  like  rain, 
Or  love  that  is  dead,  to  bloom  over  again." 

"  Fraulein  Elsa,  are  you  weeping  ?" 

She  started  and  sprang  up,  Mdllner  was  approaching 
her  across  the  lawn. 

"  Oh,  no,  these  are  not  tears,  only  the  dews  of  evening," 
she  lisped,  drying  her  eyes. 

Mollner  looked  at  her  with  pity.  "  Poor  creature,"  he 
thought,  "  it  is  not  your  fault  that  nature  has  proved  such 
a  step-mother  to  you,  and  that  your  brother's  distorted 
views  of  education  have  made  you  ridiculous,  and  even 
deprived  you  of  the  sympathy  that  you  deserve." 

He  offered  her  his  arm.  "  Come,  my  dear  Fraulein 
Elsa!"  he  said  kindly,  "lam  sent  to  bring  you  in. 
Thanks  to  Fraulein  von  Hartwich,  you  are  spared  the 
mystification  that  was  contemplated  for  you." 

"  How  so?"  asked  Elsa,  who,  upon  Mollner's  arm,  felt 
like  a  vine  nailed  against  the  wall. 

"  Fraulein  Ernestine  was  requested  to  exchange  dresses 
with  Frau  Taun,  whose  hair  is  also  black,  and  both  were 
to  wear  masks,  in  order  to  deceive  you.  The  younger 
portion  of  the  company  so  insisted  upon  it  that  I  could 
not  prevent  it.  But  Fraulein  von  Hartwich,  convinced 
that  you  were  not  so  secure  in  your  art  as  to  be  impreg- 
nable to  deceit,  refused  so  obstinately  to  do  what  was 
asked  of  her  that  the  assemblage  fairly  broke  up  iu  disap- 
pointment." 

Elsa  was  silent  from  shame.  She  knew  that  she  could 
not  have  come  off  victorious  from  such  a  trial.  She  had 
depended  upon  easily  distinguishing  individuals  by  their 
hair,  and  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  Frau  Tauirs 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  317 

hair  was  of  the  same  colour  as  Ernestine's.  And  yet,  glad 
as  she  was  to  be  thus  relieved,  she  was  humiliated  at 
having  afforded  her  enemy  an  opportunity  for  such  a  dis- 
play of  magnanimity  iu  her  behalf. 

"  You  will  make  a  trial  of  your  skill  some  time  when 
we  are  more  alone,  will  you  not?"  asked  Mollner  in  the 
tone  one  uses  to  comfort  a  child. 

"  Yes,  if  you  desire  it,  and  if  you  would  allow  me  to 
subject  your  own  magnificent  head " 

Her  voice  trembled  with  emotion  as  she  preferred  this 
bold  request. 

"  Why  not  ?"  interposed  Mollner,  "  if  you  think  my 
hard  head  would  prove  a  profitable  subject." 

"  Your  hard  head  !  oh,  how  can  you  speak  so  ?  I  should 
tremble  to  touch  that  head,  lest  Minerva  should  spring 
from  it  to  punish  me  for  my  temerity." 

Johannes  smiled  compassionately.  "  I  cannot  persuade 
you  not  to  embarrass  me  with  your  exaggerated  compli- 
ments. You  know  I  am  a  blunt  man,  and  cannot  repay 
you  in  kind." 

"  How  should  you  repay  me  ?  I  only  ask  you  to  per- 
mit me  to  reverence  you.  What  can  the  brook  require 
from  the  mighty  tree  whose  roots  drink  of  its  waters  ? 
Let  my  admiration  flow  on  at  your  feet,  and  let  your 
vigorous  nature  draw  thence  as  much  as  it  needs.  There 
will  alwavs  be  enough  for  you, — the  brook  is  inexhaust- 
ible." 

Johannes  was  most  disagreeably  affected  by  this  out- 
burst. What  could  he  reply,  without  either  inspiring  the 
unfortunate  creature  with  false  hopes  or  deeply  offending 
her? 

Her  brother's  voice  relieved  his  embarrassment.  They 
reached  the  house. 

"  Here  they  come !"  Herbert  cried  to  the  others,  who 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  them  and  were  just  taking  their 
departure.  They  ascended  the  stairs,  and  Elsa  put  on 
her  hat  and  shawl. 

"Where  have  you  been  so  long?"  Herbert  asked  in  a 
tone  intentionally  loud. 

"  Heavens  1  we  fairly  flew  through  the  garden  1"  cried 
Elsa. 

at* 


318  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"Have  you  wings,  then,  Fraulein  Elsa?"  asked  the 
young  tutor. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  with  an  enraptured  glance  at  Jo- 
hannes. "  They  have  lately  budded  anew." 

"Pray,  then,"  urged  her  indefatigable  tormentor,  "  soar 
aloft,  that  we  may  see  you, — it  would  be  a  charming 
sight !"  And  he  lighted  a  cigar  at  the  lamp  in  the  hall. 

"All  human  beings  are  born  with  wings,"  said  Elsa 
with  pathos, — "  only  we  forget  how  to  use  them." 

"  Come,  Elsa  dear,  there  is  no  use  in  our  arguing  with 
these  men,"  Angelika  said  kindly.  "  Take  leave  of  my 
mother,  and  we  will  walk  along  together,  as  we  are  going 
in  the  same  direction." 

Elsa  did  as  she  was  told.  In  the  doorway,  behind  the 
Staatsrathin,  stood  Ernestine,  utterly  dejected.  Elsa 
went  up  to  her  and  whispered,  "  May  you  rest  well,  if 
indeed  shy  Morpheus  dare  approach  your  armed  spirit." 

Herbert  dragged  Elsa  away,  whispering  fiercely,  "  No 
pretty  speeches  to  her !  I  will  crush  her !  The  '  little' 
man  will  prove  great  enough  to  terrify  her!" 

"  Good-night,  sweet  mother.  Good-night,  poor  Ernes- 
tine !"  said  Angelika,  and  then  had  hardly  time  to  kiss 
them  both  before  her  impatient  husband  fairly  picked  her 
up  and  carried  her  down-stairs. 

"  Good-night,  Professor  Mb'llner,"  whispered  Elsa. 
"The  brook  ripples  onward  to  the  ocean  of  oblivion." 

"Good-night,  good-night,"  resounded,  in  all  variations 
of  tone,  from  all  sides,  and  Father  Heim  hummed  in  his 
strong  bass  voice  an  old  student  song,  in  which  the  other 
gentlemen  gaily  joined,  for,  with  the  exception  of  the 
disturbance  caused  by  "  that  crazy  Hartwich,"  the  evening 
had  been  a  pleasant  one,  and  Mollner's  Havanas  were 
delicious  on  the  way  home.  If  only  the  Hartwich  had 
not  spoiled  their  fun  with  Fraulein  Elsa,  it  would  have 
been  too  good.  Elsa  was  by  far  the  better  of  the  two.  If 
she  was  a  fool,  they  could  at  least  laugh  at  her,  which  was 
impossible  with  the  Hartwich,  she  was  so  deuced  clever 
at  repartee.  Thus  talking,  laughing,  and  singing,  the 
throng  sought  their  several  homes  through  the  silent, 
starry  night. 

The  Staatsrathin  had  entered  the  room  with  Ernestine. 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  319 

Johannes,  having  locked  the  street-door  after  his  guests, 
came  and  took  a  chair  by  Ernestine's  side.  "  Come, 
mother  dear,  sit  down  by  us,  and  learn  to  know  our  guest 
a  little  before  we  separate  for  the  night." 

But  the  Staatsriithin  took  up  her  basket  of  keys.  "I 
am  very  sorry,  but  I  must  see  to  the  arrangement  of 
Fraulein  von  Hartwich's  bedroom.  The  servants  are 
all  very  busy  just  now." 

"Mother,  let  Regina  attend  to  all  that,  and  do  you 
stay  with  us,"  Johannes  entreated,  with  something  of 
reproach  in  his  tone.  "  Other  things  can  be  left  until 
to-morrow." 

"  The  silver  at  least  must  be  attended  to.  And  Frau- 
lein von  Hartwich  is  in  great  need  of  repose." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  give  you  so  much  trouble,"  said 
Ernestine,  really  grieved. 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  it  is  a  pleasure !"  With  these  brief 
words  the  Staatsriithin  left  the  room. 

Ernestine  sat  there  pale  and  exhausted.  Johannes 
took  her  hand.  "Patience,  patience,  Ernestine.  She 
will  soon — you  will  soon  learn  to  know  each  other." 

Ernestine  silently  shook  her  head.  Her  brow  was 
clouded.  "  There  is  no  home  for  me  here  !" 

"  Not  yet,  but  it  will  become  one !" 

"No,  never  I" 

Johannes  compressed  his  lips.  "  Ernestine,  you  do 
not  dream  how  you  pain  me  !" 

"Pain  you,  my  friend?  The  only  one  who  is  kind  to 
me !  Oh,  no,  I  will  not, — I  cannot !"  And  she  leaned 
towards  him  with  strong,  almost  childlike,  emotion,  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  his. 

"When  I  see  you  thus,"  said  Johannes,  with  a  look 
of  ardent  love,  "I  ask  myself  whether  you  can  be  the 
same  Ernestine  who  seeks  to  sacrifice  the  unfathomed 
treasure  of  her  rich,  overflowing  heart  to  a  phantom, — 
to  a  struggle  that  can  never  yield  a  thousandth  part  of 
the  pleasure  that  she  might  create  for  herself  and  others. 
Oh  God  1"  and  he  pressed  his  lips  to  Ernestine's  hand, 
"every  word  that  you  said  to-day  stabbed  me  like  a 
dagger.  How  was  it  possible  for  you  to  think  and  talk  so, 
after  that  hour  that  we  passed  together  ?  Oh,  lovely 


320  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

white  rose  that  you  are,  you  incline  yourself  towards 
me,  but,  when  I  would  pluck  and  wear  you,  your  thorns 
wound  my  hand !" 

Ernestine  laid  her  other  hand  upon  his  bowed  head. 
"Dear  —  unspeakably  dear  —  friend,  have  patience  with 
me.  If  you  could  only  put  yourself  in  my  place!  In 
early  childhood,  when  others  are  borne  in  the  arms  of 
love  and  petted  and  caressed,  I  was  abused,  scorned, 
neglected, — because — I  was — a  girl.  Every  cry  of  my 
soul,  every  thought  of  my  mind,  every  feeling  of  my 
young  heart,  asked,  '  Why  am  I  so  bitterly  punished  for 
not  being  'a  boy  ?'  And  in  every  wound  that  I  received 
were  planted  the  seeds  of  revenge, — revenge  for  myself 
and  for  my  sex, — and  of  burning  ambition  to  rival  those 
placed  so  far  above  me  in  the  scale  of  creation.  These 
feelings  matured  quickly  in  the  glow  of  the  indignation 
which  I  felt  when  I  saw  my  sex  oppressed  and  repulsed 
whenever  it  strove  to  rise  above  its  misery.  They  grew 
with  my  growth,  strengthened  with  my  physical  and 
mental  strength,  and  they  filled  my  whole  being,  just  as 
my  veins  and  nerves  run  through  my  body.  How  can  I 
live  if  you  tear  them  thence  ?" 

Johannes  held  her  hand  clasped  in  his,  and  listened 
attentively. 

"  It  is,"  continued  Ernestine,  "  as  if  my  heart  had  frozen 
to  ice  just  at  the  moment  when  the  agonized  cry,  '  Why 
am  I  worth  less  than  a  boy  ?'  burst  from  me,  and  as  if 
that  question  were  congealed  within  it, — so  that  I  can 
think  and  struggle  only  for  the  answer  to  that  'why?' 
Why  are  we  subject  to  man  ?  Why  do  we  depend  solely 
upon  his  magnanimity,  and  succumb  miserably  when  he 
withholds  it  ?  The  times  when  physical  force  ruled  are 
past.  Everything  now  depends  upon  whether  the  pro- 
gress of  woman  is  to  be  retarded  by  world-old  prejudices, 
or  by  positive  mental  inferiority  on  her  part ;  and  I  shall 
never  rest  until  science  satisfies  me  upon  this  point." 

"  And  do  you  not  believe,  Ernestine,  that  there  is  a 
third  power  subjecting  the  more  delicate  sex  to  the 
stronger — a  higher  power  than  the  right  of  the  strongest — 
more  effective  than  the  power  of  the  intellect, — the  power 
of  love  ?" 


OR  A  PHl'SIOIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  321 

Ernestine  looked  at  him  with  calm  surprise.  "I  do  not 
'believe  love  can  accomplish  what  reason  fails  to  prove." 

"Is  that  really  so?"  Johannes  was  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  walked  to  and  fro  with  folded  arms,  and 
finally  stopped  before  her.  "  You  speak  of  a  sentiment 
that  you  have  no  knowledge  of.  But  of  all  my  hopes 
that  you  have  destroyed  to-day  in  the  bud,  one  there  is 
that  you  cannot  take  from  me.  You  will  learn  to  know  it  I" 

The  Staatsratbin  entered.  "  Fraulein  von  Hartwich, 
your  room  is  ready  for  you.  Will  you  allow  me  to  con- 
duct you  thither  ?" 

"  Mother,"  cried  Johannes,  "  do  not  be  so  cold  and 
formal  to  Ernestine.  You  cannot  keep  at  such  a  dis- 
tance one  so  near  to  me." 

"  I  really  cannot  see  wherein  I  have  failed  of  my  duty 
towards  Fraulein  von  Hartwich, — we  are  as  yet  entire 
strangers  to  each  other." 

"You  are  right,  Frau  Staatsrathin,"  said  Ernestine. 
"  I  am  not  so  presuming  as  to  expect  more  from  you 
than  you  would  accord  to  the  merest  stranger.  I  am 
very  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  accept  even  so  much  from 
you.  I  will  go  to  my  room,  that  I  may  not  any  longer 
keep  you  from  your  rest ;  but  be  assured  I  shall  trespass 
upon  your  hospitality  for  a  single  night  only." 

She  turned  to  Johannes,  and,  with  a  grateful  look, 
offered  him  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,  kind  sir." 

"  God  guard  your  first  slumbers  beneath  this  roof  I"  said 
Johannes  fervently,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  wish  took 
the  airy  shape  of  her  lost  guardian  angel,  and  hovered 
before  her  up  the  stairs  to  the  cosy  little  room  whither 
the  Staatsrathin  conducted  her,  and  then,  placing  itself 
by  the  side  of  her  snowy  couch,  fanned  her  burning  brow 
with  cooling  wings. 

"  Mother,"  said  Johannes  gravely,  when  the  Staats- 
rathin rejoined  him,  "  to-day,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
you  have  been  no  mother  to  me  I" 


322  ONLY  A    GIRL; 


CHAPTER  XI. 

INHARMONIOUS    CONTRASTS. 

THE  morning  sun  streamed  brightly  through  the  white 
muslin  curtains  of  Ernestine's  windows,  yet  she  still 
slept  in  peaceful  and  childlike  slumber.  For  the  first 
time  for  many  years,  she  was  not  cheated  of  her  repose 
by  haste  to  go  to  her  work.  The  guardian  angel,  that 
Johannes  had  invoked  to  her  side,  forbade  even  her 
uncle's  ghost  to  knock  at  her  door,  and  still  kept  faithful 
watch  beside  her  bed.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  house 
were  aware  of  its  sacred  presence,  for  a  quiet  as  of  a 
church  reigned  among  its  inmates.  They  were  all  up, 
but,  at  the  command  of  their  head,  every  door  was 
softly  opened  and  shut,  every  footfall  noiseless.  Jo- 
hannes knew  how  much  need  Ernestine  had  of  repose, 
and  he  would  not  have  her  disturbed.  He  even  controlled 
the  throbbing  of  his  own  heart,  that  longed  to  bid  her 
good-morning. 

The  sleeper  drew  calmly  in  with  every  breath  the 
repose  that  surrounded  her, — and  what  a  blessing  it  was 
for  the  poor,  wearied  child ! 

The  Staatsrathin  had  superintended  the  arrangement 
of  the  breakfast-table,  and  was  seated  with  her  work  at 
the  window.  But  her  hands  were  dropped  idly  in  her 
lap,  and  her  eyes,  red  with  weeping,  were  fixed  sadly 
upon  the  flame  of  the  spirit-lamp  that  had  been  burning 
for  an  hour  beneath  the  cofi'ee-urn. 

"  Do  you  not  think  I  had  better  have  fresh  coffee  pre- 
pared ?  this  has  been  waiting  so  long,"  she  said  to  her 
son  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"Just  as  you  please,  mother  dear,"  said  Johannes. 
"You  know  I  understand  nothing  of  such  things." 

The  Staatsrathin  rang  for  the  servant.  "  Regina,  take 
this  coffee  away  and  bring  back  the  urn.  I  will  boil  some 
more." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN-  FOR    THE  SOUL.  323 

The  maid  did  as  she  was  directed,  with  a  sullen  face. 
"  'Tis  a  shame  to  waste  such  good  coffee  I"  she  muttered 
as  she  went  out. 

"  It  is  very  disagreeable,  mother,"  observed  Johannes, 
"  to  have  Regina  criticising  all  our  arrangements.  I  do 
not  like  to  have  servants  of  that  sort  about  me.  If  you 
cannot  break  her  of  it,  pray  send  her  away." 

"  She  does  her  work  well,  and  is  thoroughly  honest," 
replied  the  Staatsrathin. 

"  That  may  be,  but  there  certainly  are  servants  to  be 
had  who  would  do  their  duty  more  respectfully  and  good- 
humouredly.  I  do  not  like  to  have  my  comfort  destroyed 
by  sullen  faces  around  me.  I  like  to  have  people  who 
render  their  service  cheerfully." 

"  It  is  not  very  easy  to  find  them." 

"  They  must  be  sought  until  they  are  found,"  said  Jo- 
hannes, cutting  short  the  conversation  by  opening  and 
beginning  to  read  his  newspaper. 

The  Staatsrathin  sighed,  but  said  not  a  word. 

Regina  re-entered  with  the  urn,  and  asked  crossly,  "Is 
the  Friiulein  not  to  be  wakened  yet?" 

"  No  1"  was  Johannes's  curt  reply. 

"  Then  the  urn  might  as  well  be  washed,  if  the  coffee 
is  not  to  be  made  until  noon,"  she  grumbled  again,  and 
left  the  room,  closing  the  door  with  something  of  a  slam. 

"  Now,  mother,  this  really  is  too  much.  I  cannot  un- 
dertake the  direction  of  the  servant-maids,  but  I  will  not 
tolerate  them  when  they  are  so  insolent.  Regina  must 
conduct  herself  differently,  or  she  goes!" 

"  You  have  suddenly  grown  very  impatient  with  the 
girl,"  said  his  mother  bitterly.  "  I  hope  you  may  always 
be  as  implicitly  obeyed  as  you  desire." 

"  I  understand  what  you  mean,  mother,  but  it  does  not 
touch  me.  I  desire  only  what  is  right, — obedience  from 
the  servants  whom  I  hire,  love  from  a  wife  who  is  my 
equal." 

"  Love  alone  will  not  answer." 

"  Yes,  true,  faithful  love  will." 

"  There  must  be  submission  and  self-sacrifice." 

"  True  love  embraces  all  these, — submission,  self-sacri- 
fice, the  entire  self." 


324  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

"  It  is  not  every  one  who  can  love  truly ;  so  be  upon 
your  guard  that  you  are  not  intentionally  or  unintention- 
ally deceived." 

"  Reassure  yourself,  mother,  and  spare  me  your  mis- 
givings," said  Johannes  with  unusual  sternness,  again 
turning  to  his  newspaper,  while  he  listened  to  every 
rustle  outside  the  door  of  the  room. 

The  Staatsrathin  brought  from  a  cupboard  a  delicate 
little  coffee-mill  and  began  to  grind  some  fresh  coffee.  The 
clock  struck  half-past  eight. 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  young  lady  has  not  been 
used  to  a  regular  household,"  the  Staatsrathin  could  not 
forbear  observing. 

"  I  only  see  that  she  is  worn  out  after  the  fatigue  of 
yesterday." 

"  No  one  who  is  accustomed  to  early  rising  ever  sleeps 
so  late  in  the  morning." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  rise  early  when  one  works  all 
night  long." 

"  It  is  a  bad  custom  for  the  head  of  a  household  1" 

"  Mother,"  said  Johannes,  starting  up,  "  I  should  be 
downright  unhappy  if  I  did  not  know  how  kind-hearted 
you  really  are." 

"  Indeed  ?"  The  Staatsrathin  shook  up  the  coffee,  but 
her  hands  trembled  visibly.  "  This  girl  changes  every- 
thing. Since  she  came  into  the  house,  all  things  are 
wrong:  to-day,  I  make  you  unhappy, — yesterday,  I  was 
no  mother  to  you  I  And  yet,  my  son,  since  the  painful 
day  when  I  gave  you  birth,  I  have  never  been  more  a 
mother  to  you  than  now  in  my  anxiety  for  your  true 
happiness  1"  She  could  say  no  more ;  her  emotion  choked 
her  utterance. 

"  Mother  dearest,"  cried  Johannes,  embracing  her  ten- 
derly, "  you  must  not  shed  a  tear  because  of  a  hasty  word 
of  mine.  Come  forgive  me, — I  am  really  so  happy  to-day. 
My  dear,  good  mother,  scold  your  boy  well,  I  beg." 

The  Staatsrathin  smiled  again,  and  stroked  her  darling's 
shining  curls. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  son.  It  is  because  I  love  you 
so  that  I  cannot  give  you  to  any  but  the  noblest  and  best 
of  women.  I  tremble  lest  you,  who  are  without  an  equal 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  325 

in  my  eyes,  should  throw  yourself  away  upon  a  wife  who 
is  unworthy  of  you." 

"  Trust  me,  mother,  I  understand  and  thank  you,  but, 
if  you  want  me  to  be  happy,  love  me  a  little  less  and  Er- 
nestine more!  This  is  all  I  ask  of  you, — will  you  not 
doit?" 

"  The  first  I  cannot  do,  but  I  will  try  to  do  the  last, 
because  you  desire  it,  my  son  I" 

"  That's  my  own  dear  mother  1"  cried  Johannes,  kissing 
her  still  beautiful  hands.  "  And  now  you  may  go  and 
waken  our  guest,  for  I  must  see  her  before  I  go  to  the 
University." 

"  Here  she  is  !"  said  the  Staatsrathin,  going  forward  to 
greet  Ernestine.  "  Good-morning,  my  dear.  How  did  you 
sleep  ?"  And  she  kissed  her  brow. 

Ernestine  looked  at  her,  surprised  and  grateful.  "  Oh, 
I  slept  as  if  rocked  by  angels, — I  have  not  felt  so  rested 
and  refreshed  for  a  long  time  I"  Then,  holding  out  a  bunch 
of  lovely  white  roses  to  Johannes,  she  asked,  "Did  you 
have  these  beautiful  roses  laid  outside  my  door?" 

Johannes  blushed  slightly,  and  gazed  enraptured  at  the 
beautiful  creature.  "  Yes,  I  put  them  there  myself." 

"  I  thank  you  !"  said  Ernestine.  "  You  are  kinder 
to  me  than  auy  one  ever  was  before.  I  have  many 
flowers  in  my  garden,  but  none,  I  think,  so  lovely  as 
these.  They  are  the  first  flowers  I  ever  had  given  to  me. 
I  know  now  how  pleasant  it  is." 

"  Did  your  uncle  never  give  you  a  bouquet  upon  your 
birthday?"  asked  the  Staatsrathin. 

"  Oh,  no  1  And  I  do  not  think  it  would  have  delighted 
me  so  from  him  I"  said  Ernestine,  with  artless  ease. 

Johannes's  face  beamed  at  these  words.  "  When  is 
your  birthday,  Ernestine  ?"  he  asked,  while  the  Staats- 
rathin led  her  to  the  breakfast-table. 

Ernestine  set  down  the  cup  that  she  was  just  about 
putting  to  her  lips,  and  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "  I 
do  not  know !" 

"  You  do  not  know !"  cried  Johannes. 

"  I  will  ask  my  uncle, — he  told  me  once,  but  I  have 
forgotten." 

The  Staatsrathin  clasped  her  hands.  "  Forgotten  your 
28 


326  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

own  birthday  ?  Is  it  possible  ?  Was  it  never  cele- 
brated ?" 

"  Celebrated?"  repeated  Ernestine  in  surprise.  "No, 
why  should  it  have  been  celebrated  ?" 

"  What  1  do  you  know  nothing  of  this  affectionate 
custom  ?" 

Ernestine  shook  her  head  almost  mournfully.  "  I  know 
of  no  loving  customs." 

The  Staatsrathin  looked  at  her  with  compassion. 
"  Then  you  hardly  know  how  old  you  are  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  ;  but  my  father  died  when  I  was  twelve 
years  old, — shortly  before  his  death  he  reproached  me 
for  being  so  little  and  weak  for  twelve  years  old, — and 
since  then  ten  summers  have  passed  away." 

"  Poor  child  !"  said  the  Staatsrathin.  "  I  begin  to  un- 
derstand !" 

"  I  thought  you  would,  mother,"  said  Johannes  from 
the  other  side  of  the  table. 

"  Your  uncle  has  deprived  you  of  many  of  the  pleasures 
of  life,"  continued  the  Staatsrathin. 

"  Such  pleasures,  perhaps.  But  I  must  not  be  ungrate- 
ful,— he  has  given  me  others  no  less  fair  and  great !" 

"  And  what  were  they  ?" 

"  He  has  taught  me  to  think  and  to  study.  There  can 
be  no  greater  or  purer  pleasures  than  these." 

Again  the  Staatsrathin's  brow  was  overcast. 

Johannes  saw  it,  and  broke  off  the  conversation.  "Er- 
nestine, it  is  not  good  for  you  to  drink  your  coffee  black. 
It  excites  your  nerves." 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  uncle  bids  me  always  take  it  so, 
to  stimulate  me, — without  it,  I  often  could  not  begin  my 
day's  work." 

"  That  accords  entirely  with  your  uncle's  system  of 
education.  First  he  utterly  prostrates  you  by  wakeful- 
ness  and  study  at  night,  and  then  stimulates  you  by  arti- 
ficial means.  Why,  you  yourself  can  understand  that 
such  a  life  of  alternate  prostration  and  over-excitement 
must  wear  you  out.  I  really  do  not  know  what  to  think 
of  your  uncle  in  this  respect." 

Ernestine  looked  down,  evidently  impressed  by  the 
truth  of  Johannes's  words. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  327 

"  But  tell  me,  Johannes,"  said  the  Staatsriithin,  "  why 
do  you  address  Fraulein  Ernestine  by  her  first  name, 
when  she  does  not  authorize  you  to  do  so  by  returning 
the  familiarity  ?" 

"  She  asks  me  to  do  so." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  begged  your  son  to  call  me  Ernestine, — it 
makes  me  feel  like  a  child  again,  and  as  if  I  could  begin 
uiy  life  anew  !" 

"  But  you  should  address  him  by  his  first  name,  and 
not  have  the  intimacy  all  upon  one  side." 

Ernestine  blushed.  "  I  cannot  do  so  now, — by-and- 
by,  perhaps." 

"  Leave  it  to  time  and  Ernestine's  own  feelings,  mo- 
ther dear.  I  shall  not  ask  for  it  until  it  comes  naturally. 
Some  time  when  she  wishes  to  give  me  a  special  pleasure 
she  will  do  it.  And  now  good-by,  Ernestine.  I  must 
go.  I  lecture  at  nine,  but  as  soon  as  I  get  through  I 
will  return." 

Ernestine  looked  up  at  him  with  glistening  eyes,  and 
breathed,  scarcely  audibly,  "Farewell,  my  friend." 

Johannes  pressed  her  hand,  and  then,  turning  to  his 
mother,  said,  "  Dear  mother,  I  leave  Ernestine  to  you  for 
an  hour,  and  hope  with  all  my  heart  that  you  will  under- 
stand each  other.  But,  at  all  events,  remember  what 
you  promised  me." 

"  Most  certainly  I  will,  my  son."  He  went  as  far 
as  the  door,  then  lingered,  and,  calling  his  mother  to  him, 
whispered  imploringly,  "  Be  kind  to  her, — all  that  you 
do  for  her  you  do  for  me. " 

And,  with  one  more  look  of  longing  love  at  Ernestine, 
he  was  gone.  It  was  very  hard  to  go.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  must  stay, — that  Ernestine  would  escape  him  if 
he  did  not  guard  her  well.  He  would  have  turned  back 
again  if  his  duty  had  not  been  so  imperative.  "  If  I  only 
find  her  here  when  I  return !"  he  said  to  himself  one  mo- 
ment, and  the  next  he  blamed  himself  for  his  childish 
weakness.  He  loved  her  too  well.  The  one  hour  of 
lecture  seemed  to  him  an  eternity.  He  longed  to  see  her 
again  almost  before  he  had  crossed  the  threshold  that 
separated  him  from  her. 

How  beautiful  she  was  to-day  after  her  refreshing  sleep, 


328  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

— how  maidenly!  If,  when  he  returned,  she  looked  at 
him  with  those  glistening  eyes,  he  could  not  control 
himself, — he  would  throw  himself  at  her  feet  and  implore 
her  to  be  his.  The  decisive  word  must  be  spoken, — he 
must  have  certainty.  The  state  of  doubt  into  which  he 
was  plunged  by  the  strange  contrast  between  Ernestine's 
cold,  stubbornly  expressed  opinions  and  her  tender  per- 
sonal behaviour  towards  himself  was  not  to  be  borne  any 
longer.  Only  one  hour  separated  him  from  the  goal  for 
which  he  longed  with  every  pulse  of  his  strong,  manly 
nature.  Oh,  were  it  only  over  1 

'  Do  you  like  beans  ?"  the  Staatsrathin  asked  Ernestine. 

'Why  do  you  ask  me  ?" 

'Only  because  you  are  to  have  them  at  dinner  to-day." 

'Thank  you,  but  I  cannot  dine  with  you." 

'Why  not?" 

'  My  uncle  might  return  unexpectedly  from  his  journey, 
and  be  angry  if  he  did  not  find  me  at  home." 

"Strange!  How  comes  it  that  you,  who  contend  so 
earnestly  for  freedom,  are  under  such  strict  control?  Is 
it  not  somewhat  of  a  contradiction?" 

Ernestine  started. 

The  Staatsrathin  continued :  "  You  are  battling  for  the 
independence  of  woman,  you  brand  as  slavery  a  wife's 
obedience  to  her  protector,  and  yet  a  man  who,  as  I  un- 
derstand the  case,  is  far  more  dependent  upon  you  than 
you  are  upon  him,  has  such  complete  dominion  over  you 
that  you  do  not  dare  to  stay  from  home  a  day  without 
his  permission." 

Ernestine  was  again  startled  and  surprised.  "  You  are 
right.  But  I  have  grown  up  under  his  control.  It  has 
become  a  habit  with  me,  so  that  I  am  hardly  conscious 
of  it,  and  it  has  never  yet  been  so  opposed  to  my  wishes 
as  to  induce  me  to  shake  it  off." 

"Now,  let  me  ask  you,  my  dear,  whether  you  regard 
this  dull,  half-unconscious  habit  of  submission  as  nobler 
and  loftier  than  the  loving,  voluntary  obedience  that  a 
wife  yields  to  a  husband?" 

Ernestine  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  with 
her  own  generous  frankness,  "No,  it  is  not.  But  I  have 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  329 

brought  it  upon  myself,  and  cannot  escape  from  it  as  long 
as  my  uncle  possesses  the  legal  right  of  my  guardian." 

"But  this  legal  right  does  not  in  any  way  affect  your 
personal  freedom  as  long  as  you  do  not  desire  to  do  any- 
thing contrary  to  law." 

"He  always  told  me  that  the  guardian  was  the  master 
of  the  ward.  And  if  this  tyrannical  regulation  had  not 
applied  equally  to  the  male  and  female  sex,  I  should  long 
ago  have  attacked  it  in  my  publications." 

"That  would  not  have  done  much  good,  I  fear,"  said 
the  Staatsrathin  dryly. 

Ernestine  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "None  of  my 
writings  effect  much  good.  But  they  are  not  meant  to 
be  anything  more  than  a  few  of  the  many  drops  of  water 
that  must  one  day  wear  away  the  stoue  that  dams  the 
course  of  the  pure  waters  of  reason." 

"We  will  not  discuss  such  abstract  subjects,"  said  the 
Staatsrathin  evasively.  "I  wTould  rather  persuade  you 
to  stay  with  us  to-day." 

"If  I  only  thought  that  I  should  not  be  a  burden  to 
you !" 

"You  certainly  will  not  be  to  me,  and  you  will  give 
my  son  a  pleasure  far  greater  than  the  annoyance  to 
which  your  absence  may  subject  your  guardian.  But 
you  are  the  best  judge  of  what  you  ought  to  do." 

Ernestine  laid  her  hand  upon  the  Staatsrathin's.  "I 
will  stay!" 

"There, — that's  right!  Johannes  would  never  have 
forgiven  me  if  I  had  failed  to  persuade  you  to  stay."  She 
rang  the  bell.  Regina  appeared,  and  carried  away  the 
coffee-tray. 

"You  may  bring  me  the  beans,.!  will  prepare  them," 
said  the  Staatsrathin.  Regina  brought  in  the  beans  in  a 
dish,  with  a  bowl  for  the  stalks. 

"I'm  sure  you  will  excuse  me,"  said  the  Staatsrathin 
to  Ernestine,  and  she  seated  herself  by  the  window, 
knife  in  hand,  ready  to  begin  her  task. 

Ernestine  .[poked  on  in  astonishment.  "Do  you  do 
that  yourself?" 

"Why  not?  The  cook  has  a  great  deal  to  do  to-day, 
and  I  am  glad  to  assist  her." 

28* 


330  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  I  would  help  you  if  I  knew  how,"  said  Ernestine. 

"Try  it, — perhaps  it  will  amuse  you.  It  does  not 
require  much  skill  "  The  old  lady,  quite  delighted  at 
Ernestine's  interest  in  domestic  affairs,  handed  her  another 
knife  and  a  bean,  saying,  "Look!  you  first  strip  off  the 
stem  and  those  tough  fibres, — so.  The  people  in  this 
part  of  the  country  are  apt  to  pay  no  attention  to  the 
fibres,  but  if  you  do  not  strip  them  off  they  are  very 
tough.  And  now  cut  the  bean  lengthwise.  Stop! — not 
so  thick, — a  little  finer.  Now,  don't  put  the  stems  back 
in  the  dish,  but  here  in  this  bowl!  See  I  everything  in 
the  world  can  be  learned,  and,  if  you  should  not  be  com- 
pelled to  do  it,  it  is  at  least  well  to  know  how." 

A  gentle  sigh  escaped  her  as  she  remembered  that  her 
own  circumstances  had  once,  before  she  had  lost  her 
property  by  her  brother's  failure,  been  such  as  to  make 
these  homely  offices  entirely  unnecessary. 

Ernestine  contemplated  with  smiling  surprise  the 
Staatsrathin's  enthusiasm  in  encouraging  her  to  under- 
take this  new  role.  She  asked  herself  seriously  if  it 
were  possible  that  this  was  really  an  intellectual  woman. 
But  one  glance  at  the  broad,  thoughtful  brow  and  the 
clear,  expressive  eyes  of  the  speaker  convinced  her  of  the 
truth. 

Lost  in  these  reflections,  Ernestine  continued  her  novel 
taskwork,  but  the  Staatsrathin  suddenly  discovered,  to 
her  horror,  that  she  was  throwing  the  stems  in  with  the 
beans,  and  the  beans  into  the  bowl  of  stems  and  strings. 

"  My  dear,"  she  cried,  "  see  what  you  are  doirtg!  now  I 
shall  have  to  pick  over  the  whole  dishful !" 

Ernestine  threw  down  the  knife  and  leaned  back  in  her 
chair.  "  I  never  was  made  for  such  work  !  Forgive  me, 
but  I  cannot  think  it  worth  while  to  learn  it.  I  shall 
never  be  so  situated  as  to  need  such  knowledge." 

"As  you  please,"  said  the  Staatsvuthin  coldly. 

"  Are  you  displeased  with  me  ?  Is  it  possible  that 
you  are  displeased  with  me  because  I  cannot  cut  beans?7' 
She  seized  the  old  lady's  busy  hand.  "  Frau  Staats- 
rathin, make  some  allowance  for  me.  You  must  not  ask 
one  to  do  what  she  is  not  fit  for.  Would  you  ask  the  fish 
to  fly,  or  the  bird  to  swim  ?  Of  course  not.  Do  not, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  331 

then,  expect  a  person  who  is  at  home  only  in  a  different 
world  to  take  an  interest  in  the  every-day  concerns  of 
this." 

"  This  strife  about  the  beans  you  make, 
When  really  crowns  are  now  at  stake, 

we  might  say,"  remarked  the  Staatsrathin.  "  And  cer- 
tainly in  our  case  these  matters  are  not  so  widely  differ- 
ent. What  is  most  important  cannot  be  entirely  divided 
here  from  what  is  unimportant.  Such  little  household 
occupations,  slight,  even  insignificant,  as  they  may  ap- 
pear, belong  to  the  responsibilities  of  a  woman's  position. 
They  are  stitches  in  the  web  of  her  life.  If  a  single  one 
is  dropped,  the  whole  is  gradually  frayed!" 

Ernestine  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  You  are  perfectly 
right  from  your  point  of  view,  Frau  Staatsrathin,  but 
your  point  of  view  is  not  mine.  To  me  a  woman's  mis- 
sion is  something  higher.  A  noble  mind  cannot  conde- 
scend to  occupy  itself  with  such  cares,  which  are — forgive 
me  the  expression — always  more  or  less  sordid." 

The  Staatsrathin  frowned  slightly,  but  she  did  not  in- 
terrupt Ernestine,  who  continued:  "It  is  hard  enough 
that  so  much  of  the  brute  cleaves  to  us  that  we  must  eat 
and  drink  to  keep  our  physical  mechanism  in  order;  thus, 
in  the  process  of  development,  we  never  attain  any 
higher  degree  of  perfection.  We  ought  to  take  pride  in 
developing  ourselves  as  fully  as  possible,  in  contending 
against  every  animal  appetite  instead  of  making  a  formal 
study  how  best  to  pamper  it.  We  ought  to  blush  for  our 
frail,  indigent  physical  nature,  instead  of  making  an  idol 
of  it  and  regarding  her  who  sacrifices  to  it  most  freely 
as  the  loftiest  illustration  of  feminine  virtue." 

"  That  all  sounds  very  fine,"  said  the  Staatsrathin,  "but 
it  is,  nevertheless,  a  deplorable  mistake.  With  the  ca- 
pacity for  pleasure  the  Creator  has  bestowed  upon  us  the 
right  to  enjoy.  We  ought  only  to  see  to  it  that  our 
pleasures  are  true  and  noble.  It  is  false  shame  that 
would  repudiate  what  we  cannot  live  without,  and  it 
sounds  strangely  contradictory  from  the  lips  of  a  natural 
philosopher  like  yourself.  Before  whom  would  you  blush  ? 
Before  your  fellow-beings  ?  Certainly  not,  for  they  all 
share  your  mortal  infirmities.  And,  since  you  do  not 


332  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

believe  in  a  God,  where  does  there  exist  for  you  any 
supernatural  ideal,  any  bodiless  spirit,  subject  to  no  change 
nor  desire  of  change,  before  whom  you  can  be  ashamed 
of  being  a  mortal  ?" 

"  In  myself, — in  my  own  imagination." 

"  Yes,  yes,  this  is  the  usual  jargon.  Because  you  deny 
your  God,  and  still  feel  the  need  of  Him,  you  exalt  your- 
self into  a  divinity,  and  are  humiliated  at  the  idea  of 
your  imprisonment  within  a  mortal  frame  I" 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  not  so  vain  and  arrogant.  There  is,  if  I 
may  thus  express  it,  a  refinement  of  mind  that  is  shocked 
by  the  coarse  demands  of  material  nature.  And  I  should 
be  afraid  of  degrading  myself  in  my  own  eyes  if,  in  satis- 
fying these  demands,  I  used  the  time  and  ability  that 
might  be  employed  for  higher  purposes." 

"  You  speak  as  if  by  the  responsibilities  of  a  woman 
I  meant  devotion  solely  to  creature  comforts.  I  under- 
stand by  these  something  more  than  eating  and  drink- 
ing. Order  and  cleanliness,  for  example,  are  among 
the  necessities  of  our  life,  especially  for  fine  natures,  for 
they  belong  to  the  domain  of  the  beautiful,  and  must  be 
the  special  concern  of  the  female  head  of  a  household, 
whatever  may  be  the  number  of  her  servants.  To  be 
sure,  there  are  women  who  are  so  busy  with  brooms  and 
dusters  that  we  might  almost  think  them  neat  from  their 
love  of  dirt.  But  I  am  not  speaking  of  such  extreme 
cases.  The  superintendence  of  servants,  if  you  have 
them,  the  distribution  of  labour,  the  purchase  of  clothing, 
with  its  hundred  various  branches,  and,  finally,  the  direc- 
tion and  care  of  children,  are  all  necessities  of  existence, 
duties  to  which  no  woman,  even  the  wealthiest,  can  refuse 
to  attend.  Least  of  all  should  they  be  left  to  the  husband. 
I  consider  it  one  of  our  most  sacred  duties  to  relieve  him 
from  all  material  cares,  that  he  may  be  free  to  work  for 
the  benefit  of  mankind.  Thus  we  assist  him,  modestly 
though  it  be,  in  the  great  work,  by  enabling  him  to  keep 
himself  free  and  fit  for  his  labours." 

"I  frankly  acknowledge  that  I  am  incapable  of  such 
modesty.  I  cannot  be  satisfied  with  an  excellence  that  I 
must  share  with  every  housekeeper.  I  am  conscious  of 
the  ability  to  assist  directly  in  the  cause  of  human  progress. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  333 

Why  should  I  waste  it  in  labour  wholly  possible  to  medi- 
ocrity ?" 

"  You  depreciate  this  labour  because  you  do  not  know 
it.  Rightly  conceived  and  executed,  it  may  prove  of  the 
greatest  significance.  For  the  more  cultivated  and  intel- 
lectual a  woman  is,  the  more  capable  is  she  of  appreci- 
ating the  importance  of  the  task  assigned  to  man,  and  the 
necessity  of  lightening  it  as  much  as  she  can  by  due  care 
of  his  physical  and  mental  welfare.  And  with  this  thought 
ever  in  her  mind,  the  meanest  employment,  the  most 
menial  occupation,  becomes  a  labour  of  love.  And  even 
the  most  careful  housewife  can  find  time,  if  she  is  so 
disposed,  to  educate  herself  still  further,  and  so  to  form 
and  exercise  her  talents  as  to  make  them  the  delight  of 
her  husband's  hours  of  leisure.  That  is  what  I  under- 
stand, my  dear,  to  be  a  wife  in  the  truest  sense."  She 
suddenly  took  Ernestine's  hand  and  drew  her  towards 
her.  "  And  thus, — why  should  I  not  speak  frankly  ? — thus 
I  would  have  the  woman  to  whom  I  am  to  be  a  mother." 

Ernestine  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "  Will  you — 
are  you  to  be  a  mother  to  me,  then  ?" 

The  Staatsrathiu  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"  I  should  like  to  be.  You  are  an  orphan,  and  I  pity 
you.  If  you  would  only  be  what  a  woman  should  be, — 
if  you  would  only  conform  to  our  social  and  Christian 
views,  I  could  give  you  all  a  mother's  love." 

Ernestine  withdrew  her  hand.  "  I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  intentions,  but,  if  these  are  the  only  conditions  upon 
which  you  can  bestow  your  affection  upon  me,  I  fear  I 
shall  never  deserve  it." 

The  Staatsrathin  shook  her  head  in  rising  displeasure. 
"You  do  not  understand  me." 

"  I  understand  you  far  better  than  I  am  understood  by 
you." 

"  You  probably  think  my  homely  wisdom  very  easy 
of  comprehension — while  yours  is  too  deep  for  my  powers 
of  mind."  The  Staatsriithin  laid  down  her  knife,  and 
pushed  away  the  dish  of  beans.  "  But  the  time  may 
come  when  you  will  think  of  what  I  have  been  saying, 
and  will  be  sorry  that  you  have  repulsed  me." 

"  Frau  Staatsrathiu,  1  have  not  repulsed  you.     I  am 


334  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

only  too  honest  to  accept  a  regard  bestowed  upon  me 
on  conditions  that  I  cannot  fulfil.  To  gain  your  ap- 
proval I  should  be  obliged  to  equivocate, — and  I  have 
always  been  true.  It  is  robbery  to  accept  an  affection 
springing  from  a  false  idea  of  one's  character.  What 
would  it  profit  me  to  throw  myself  on  your  breast  and 
silently  return  your  tenderness,  when  I  know  that  you 
would  love  me  not  for  what  I  am,  but  for  what  I  might 
pretend  to  be  ?  Sooner  or  later  you  would  discover  your 
error,  and  despise  me  for  deceiving  you.  No,  I  am  not 
unworthy  of  the  love  of  good  people  just  as  I  am,  but  if 
I  cannot  win  it  by  frankness  and  conscientiousness,  I 
will  never  try  to  steal  it." 

"You  speak  proudly.  Such  self-assertion  does  not 
become  a  young  girl  towards  an  old  woman,  least  of  all 
towards  the  mother  of  her  best  friend  and  benefactor." 

"  Frau  Staatsrathin,"  cried  Ernestine,  "  I  shall  always 
be  grateful  Lo  your  son  for  his  kindness  to  me,  but  surely 
I  ought  not  to  testify  my  gratitude  by  hypocrisy  and 
slavish  servility." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  Staatsrathin,  controlling  herself, 
"  you  agitate  yourself  causelessly.  I  am  a  simple,  prac- 
tical woman,  who  does  not  speak  your  language,  and  can- 
not follow  you  in  your  flights.  1  have  no  desire  to  drag 
you  down  to  us.  I  simply  wish  to  show  you  the  world 
in  its  actual  shape,  that  you  may  know  what  awaits  you 
when  you  come  to  make  your  home  in  it;  and  I  would 
gladly  receive  you  in  my  motherly  arms,  lest  you  should 
receive  too  severe  a  shock  from  your  first  contact  with 
reality." 

"Oh,  Frau  Staatsrathin,  if  the  world  .is  what  you 
describe  it  to  me,  I  would  rather  remain  above  it,  in  a 
colder  but  purer  sphere." 

"I  should  have  thought  the  sphere  in  which  you  were 
not  safe  from  the  assaults  of  angry  peasants  hardly  a 
desirable  one.  I,  at  least,  should  prefer  the  modest  dis- 
charge of  domestic  duties  in  the  circle  of  home.  But 
tastes  differ." 

Ernestine  shrank  from  these  words.  "  Truth  is  born 
in  heaven,  but  stoned  upon  the  earth.  Those  who  wish 
to  bring  it  into  the  world  must  have  the  courage  of  mar- 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  335 

tyrs.  These  are  such  old  commonplaces  that  one  can 
hardly  give  utterance  to  them  without  their  seeming  trite. 
Those  who  recognize  truth  must  speak  it,  and  the  happi- 
ness of  possessing  it  outweighs  with  me  the  misery  that 
I  may  incur  in  speaking  it." 

"  Forgive  me,  but  these  are  phrases  that  utterly  fail 
to  cast  any  halo  around  such  a  disgraceful  occurrence  as 
that  of  yesterday." 

"  Frau  Staatsrathin  !"  cried  Ernestine,  flushing  up. 

"  Be  calm,  my  dear  child,  I  am. speaking  like  a  mother 
to  you.  What  can  you  gain  by  casting  discredit  by  your 
conduct,  beforehand,  upon  the  truths  that  you  wish  to 
assert  ?  Who  will  place  any  confidence  ia  the  under- 
standing and  learning  of  a  woman  who  does  not  under- 
stand how  to  guard  herself  from  ridicule  ?  Pray  listen  to 
me  calmly,  for  I  speak  as  he  would  who  would  give  his 
life  for  you  every  hour  of  the  day.  I  would  empty  my 
heart  to  you,  that  no  shadow  may  exist  between  us. 
The  world  is  thus  pitiless  towards  everything  in  the 
conduct  of  a  woman  that  provokes  remark,  because  our 
ideas  of  propriety  have  assigned  her  a  modest  retire- 
ment in  the  home  circle,  and  it  sees,  in  the  bold  attempt 
to  emancipate  herself  from  such  universally  received 
ideas,  a  want  of  womanly  modesty  and  sense  of  honour, 
which,  it  thinks,  cannot  be  too  severely  punished.  Pub- 
licity is  a  thorny  path.  At  every  step  aside  from  her 
vocation,  although  never  so  carefully  taken,  a  woman 
meets  with  briers  and  nettles  that  wound  her  unpro- 
tected feet  but  are  carelessly  trodden  down  by  a  man. 
And  even  although  she  succeeds  in  weaving  for  herself 
a  crown  in  this  unlovely  domain,  it  is,  as  one  of  our 
poets  justly  says,  'a  crown  of  thorns.'" 

Ernestine  was  looking  fixedly  upon  the  ground.  The 
Staatsrathin  could  not  guess  her  thoughts.  Suddenly 
she  raised  her  head  proudly.  "  And  if  it  be  a  crown  of 
thorns,  I  will  press  it  upon  my  brow.  It  is  dearer  to  me 
than  the  fleeting  roses  of  commonplace  happiness,  or  the 
pinched  head-gear  of  a  German  housewife  !" 

The  Staatsrathin  looked  up  to  heaven,  as  though  pray- 
ing for  patience.  Then  she  replied  with  an  evident  effort 
at  self-control,  "  I  grant  you  that  the  lot  of  woman 


336  ONLY  A    GIRL  ; 

might  be,  and  should  be,  better  than  it  is.  But  we  can- 
not improve  it  by  struggling  against  it,  but  by  enduring 
it  with  the  dignity  which  will  win  us  esteem,  while  our 
struggles  can  only  expose  us  to  the  ridicule  that  always 
attends  unsuccessful  effort." 

"  Frau  Staatsrathin,  I  hope  to  turn  ridicule  into  fear." 

"  And  if  you  should  succeed,  what  will  it  avail  you  ? 
Which  is  the  happier,  to  have  people  shun  you  in  fear, 
or  to  be  surrounded  by  a  loving  circle  for  whom  you 
have  suffered  ?" 

"  I  do  not  live  for  myself, — I  live  for  the  cause  of  mil- 
lions of  women  for  whom  it  is  my  mission  to  struggle 
and  contend.  Even  if  I  could  be  ever  so  happy,  I  should 
despise  myself  were  I  able  in  my  own  good  fortune  to 
forget  the  misery  of  others.  But  I  confess  frankly  that  I 
could  not  be  happy  with  such  a  lot  as  you  prescribe  for 
woman.  Whoever  has  once  floated  upon  the  ocean  of 
thought  that  embraces  the  world,  would  die  of  homesick- 
ness if  confined  within  the  narrow  limits  of  the  domestic 
circle." 

The  Staatsriitbin  dropped  her  hands  in  her  lap, — her 
patience  was  exhausted.  "  It  is  of  no  use, — you  cannot 
comprehend  the  words  of  reason  1" 

"  Do  you  call  that  reason  ?  I  assure  you,  my  ideas  of 
reason  are  very  different." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  You  are  thinking  of  the  defi- 
nitions of  Kant  and  Hegel.  You  are  talking  of  what 
is  called  '  pure  reason,'  that  repudiates  everything  hith- 
erto dear  and  sacred  in  men's  eyes,  and  would  have 
created  a  far  better  world  if  God  Almighty  bad  not  so 
bungled  the  work  beforehand.  But  scatter  abroad  your 
doctrines  far  and  wide, — they  cannot  do  much  harm,  for 
they  only  serve  to  show  upon  how  flimsy  an  argument 
the  enemies  of  God  base  their  denial  of  Him.  But  such 
a  person  can  never  be  cordially  received  into  a  family 
circle.  She  can  never  inspire  confidence,  and  that  grieves 
me  for  my  Johannes's  sake !" 

Ernestine  was  silent  for  awhile,  and  then  looked  sadly 
sit  the  Staatsrathin.  "I  have  not  asked  you  to  receive 
me  into  your  family,  Frau  Staatsrathin.  I  know  that 
my  opinions  make  me  an  object  of  dislike  wherever  I 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  337 

go.  Any  one  who  sees  through  the  defects  and  abuses 
of  society  will  never  be  a  welcome  guest,  but  will 
be  shunned  as  an  embodied  reproach.  Strong-minded 
women,  as  they  are  called,  think  me  narrow-minded, — the 
narrow-minded  call  me  strong-minded.  I  belong  to  no 
party,  I  am  opposed  to  all.  It  is  a  terrible  fate,  and 
nothing  can  help  me  to  endure  it,  save  a  good  con- 
science." 

"  Or  excessive  self-conceit,"  the  ,Staatsrathin  interposed 
half  aloud. 

Ernestine  blushed  deeply.  Scarcely  restraining  her 
anger,  she  replied,  "  Frau  Staatsrathin,  people,  accus- 
tomed all  their  lives  long  to  the  modesty  of  stupidity  that 
characterizes  the  women  of  your  circle,  will  find  it  very 
easy  to  stigmatize  as  self-conceit  the  courage  of  a  woman 
daring  to  have  an  opinion  of  her  own." 

"  It  is  not  necessarily  stupidity  that  prevents  one  from 
trumpeting  forth  one's  opinions  as  indisputable  truth." 

"  Frau  Staatsrathin,"  said  Ernestine,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot,  "if  you  possessed  for  me  one  drop  of  the 
motherly  kindness  of  which  you  spoke  a  little  while  ago, 
you  would  judge  me  less  harshly.  A  mother  makes  allow- 
ance for  her  child.  How  could  you  wish  to  be  my  mother, 
when  vou  are  not  disposed  to  make  any  allowance  for 
me  ?" 

"  I  really  cannot  tell  how  I  fell  into  such  an  error, — and 
yet  I  was  sincere,  perfectly  sincere.  God  knows  I  meant 
kindly  by  you.  If  you  knew  the  part  that  you  are  playing 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  you  would  be  more  humble  and 
grateful  for  the  sacrifice, — yes,  listen  to  the  truth,  you 
who  pride  yourself  upon  your  frankness, — for  the  sacri- 
fice, I  say,  that  a  mother  makes  when  she  opens  her 
house  and  heart  to  such  a  person  for  her  son's  sake." 

Ernestine  sat  pale  and  mute,  her  hands  folded  in  her 
lap;  she  could  not  stir.  The  Staatsrathin  continued, 
greatly  irritated :  "But  I  did  it;  I  conquered  myself,  and 
tried  to  forget  your  skepticism,  your  unwomanliness, 
your  reputation.  I  hoped — hoped  for  my  son's  sake — that 
you  would  change,  and  I  would  gladly  have  been  a  help 
to  you.  But  you  repulse  my  first  approach  in  a  manner 
that  makes  me  tremble  at  the  thought  that  my  Johannes 

29 


338  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

has  given  his  loving  heart  to  such,  a  hardened  nature, 
— that  he  should  have  by  his  fireside  a  woman  who 
despises  a  wife's  duties,  and  who  will  be  the  ruin  of 
himself  and  his  home." 

Ernestine  sprang  up.  She  gasped  for  breath,  and 
her  words  broke  forth  from  her  with  painful  effort. 
"  Frau  Staatsrathin,  I  can  assure  you  there  has  never 
been  a  word  or  bint  at  any  nearer  relation  between  your 
son  and  myself.  I  tnever  would  have  crossed  your 
threshold  had  I  known  how  I  was  slandered.  I  promise 
you,  you  shall  have  no  cause  for  alarm.  I  shall  never 
disgrace  you  by  forcing  you  to  receive  me  as  your  son's 
wife.  If  he  should  ever  offer  me  his  hand,  I  should  refuse 
it.  As  I  do  not  pretend  to  believe  in  a  God,  I  cannot  offer 
to  appeal  to  him,  but  I  swear  to  you  by  my  honour, 
which  is  dearer  to  me  than  life " 

"Stop,  stop!"  the  Staatsrathin  interrupted  her  in 
mortal  terror.  "  Oh,  my  Johannes,  what  am  I  doing  I 
Ernestine,  do  not  make  matters  worse  than  they  are.  Do 
not  drive  them  to  extremities.  I  want  you  to  reject,  not 
my  son,  but  your  own  faults  and  errors.  Promise  me  to 
give  up  these,  and  you  shall  be  the  beloved  daughter  of 
my  heart !" 

"  I  cannot  promise  you  that.  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so. 
Do  you  think  I  would  beg  and  fawn  for  the  doubtful  hap- 
piness of  reigning  at  a,  fireside  where  every  occasion  would 
be  improved  to  remind  me  of  the  sacrifice  that  was  made 
in  enduring  me  ? — where  the  only  commendation  that  I 
could  earn  would  be  for  the  skilful  management  of  sauce- 
pans and  dish-cloths,  and  where  a  badly-cooked  dinner 
would  brand  me  as  a  useless  member  of  society  ?  No,  you 
know  less  of  me  than  I  thought,  if  you  imagine  that  the 
chasm  that  you  have  opened  between  us  can  ever  be 
bridged  over.  Spare  me  the  humiliation  of  further  expla- 
nations. I  thank  you  for  your  hospitality.  I  leave  you, 
as  I  did  years  ago,  when  I  stood  trembling  and  wet 
through  before  you,  and  you  had  nothing  for  me  but  cold 
words  of  reproof,  that  made  me  feel  myself  a  little  cul- 
prit, although  I  was  as  unconscious  of  wrong  as  I  am  to- 
day. Then  I  would  sooner  have  died  than  have  returned 
to  you,  although  your  son,  blessings  upon  him!  would 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  339 

have  treated  me  like  a  sister.  Ten  years  afterwards  he  has 
brought  me  again  to  you  and  overcome  my  old  childish 
timidity ;  but  the  first  moment  that  I  stepped  across  your 
threshold  and  encountered  your  cold  greeting,  I  knew 
that  there  was  no  home  for  me  here !"  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  leaned  exhausted  against  the 
door  through  which  she  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

The  Staatsrathin,  like  all  impulsive  but  really  fine- 
tempered  people,  was  easily  appeased  and  touched.  She 
hastened  to  her  and  threw  her  arms  around  her.  "  My 
dear  child !  Can  you  not  forgive  the  hasty  words  of  an 
anxious  mother  ?  Indeed  I  was  unjust.  You  are  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning.  I  thought  only  of  my  son, 
and " 

"  There  was  no  need  to  stab  me  to  the  heart  for  his 
sake.  I  never  dreamed  of  becoming  the  wife  of  your 
son, — he  is  far  too  hostile  to  my  views,  much  as  I  esteem 
him.  I  wished  for  nothing  but  the  happiness  of  calling 
one  human  being  in  the  world  friend.  But  I  can  go  with- 
out that  too.  I  will  prove  it  to  you.  Farewell !" 

And  she  hurried  out,  followed  by  the  Staatsrathin, 
who  could  not  prevent  her  from  gathering  together  the 
few  things  she  had  brought  with  her  and  leaving  the 
house. 

The  mother  looked  after  her  with  anxious  forebod- 
ings. "What  will  Johannes  say?  How  he  will  blame  his 
mother!"  she  lamented, — but  she  soon  collected  herself, 
and  said  calmly  and  firmly,  "In  God's  name,  then,  I  will 
bear  it.  It  is  better  thus  1" 


PART   III. 



CHAPTER  I. 

THE   STRENGTH   OP  WEAKNESS. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  day  that  drove  Ernestine  from 
her  peaceful  but  brief  refuge,  Herr  Leonhardt  slept  un- 
usually late.  His  wife,  who  did  not  wish  to  waken  him, 
looked  anxiously  at  the  old  cuckoo  clock,  that  pointed  to 
half-past  six.  It  was  very  natural  that  the  old  man  should 
be  tired,  after  the  trying  occurrences  of  the  previous  day. 
Frau  Brigitta  had  never  seen  him  so  agitated.  He  had 
shed  bitter  tears  upon  his  return  home, — tears  from  those 
poor  eyes !  Every  drop  had  fallen  scalding  hot  upon  his 
faithful  wife's  heart.  Those  amongst  whom  he  had  lived 
for  half  a  century  as  a  steadfast,  self-sacrificing  friend  and 
teacher,  had  taken  up  stones  to  stone  him, — had  forgotten 
all  that  they  owed  him, — it  broke  the  heart  of  the  weary 
old  man. 

Frau  Leonhardt  sat  upon  the  bench  by  the  stove.  She 
folded  her  kind,  fat  hands,  and  wondered  how  any  one 
could  grieve  the  man  who  was  to  her  the  very  ideal 
of  honour  and  worth !  The  door  in  the  clock  opened, 
and  out  hopped  the  cuckoo,  flapped  his  wings,  called 
"cuckoo"  seven  times,  and  then  disappeared,  slamming 
the  door  behind  him  as  if  be  were  greatly  irritated  at 
finding  nothing  astir  as  yet.  Frau  Leonhardt  arose, — 
the  old  man  must  be  called  now,  for  the  children  came  to 
school  at  eight. 

She  ascended  the  ladder-like  staircase  to  the  upper  story, 
which  was  under  the  roof  of  the  cottage,  and  softly  en- 
tered the  bedroom.  Herr  Leonhardt  lay  with  his  face 
turned  to  the  wall. 

"  Are  3rou  asleep  ?"  asked  Frau  Leonhardt. 
(340) 


A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   TEE  SOUL.  34! 

"What  is  it?  what  is  the  matter?"  cried  her  husband 
alarmed.  "  Is  it  really  on  fire  ?" 

"  Why,  you  are  dreaming, — it  is  time  to  get  up, — the 
children  will  be  here  !" 

"  But,  my  dear  wife,  it  is  still  night.  What  are  you 
doing  up  so  early  ?" 

"  Night  ?"  and  Frau  Leonhardt  smiled.  "  Why,  how 
sleepy  you  are  ! — it  is  broad  daylight — seven  o'clock." 

"  Broad  daylight !"  cried  the  old  man  in  a  strange  tone 
of  voice.  He  sat  up  in  bed,  rubbed  his  eyes,  then  rubbed 
them  again  and  stared  at  the  bright  sunbeams,  but  not  an 
eyelash  quivered.  He  was  very  pale. 

"  How  are  you,  dear  husband  ?"  asked  his  wife  anxiously. 

"  Well,  well,  mother  dear,  only  a  little  tired  still,"  he 
said  in  an  uncertain  voice.  "  Go  down  now  and  get  the 
coffee  ready.  I  will  come  soon  !" 

"  Can  I  not  help  you  ?  you  are  trembling  so  ;  you  must 
have  fever  !"  cried  Frau  Brigitta. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  quite  well, — go  down  now,  I  pray  you." 

She  obeyed,  hard  as  it  was  for  her,  and  below-stairs 
she  could  not  help  weeping,  she  knew  not  why.  She  pre- 
pared the  coffee,  and  listened  with  a  beating  heart  for 
Bernhard's  step  upon  the  stairs.  Then,  after  twenty  min- 
utes, that  seemed  to  her  an  eternity,  she  heard  him  coming 
with  a  slow,  uncertain  tread.  Some  great  misfortune 
seemed  upon  its  way  to  her.  How  strange  ! — he  felt  for  the 
door  before  opening  it.  He  must  be  very  sick.  She  ran 
towards  him,  but  his  look  reassured  her.  He  was  pale 
indeed,  but  his  expression  was  as  calm  and  gentle  as 
.ever.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm.  "  Well,  dear  wife, 
now  let  us  breakfast.  I  have  kept  you  waiting  for  me  !" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  waited,"  said  Frau  Brigitta,  leading  him 
to  the  table.  "  Have  you  any  appetite  ?  Do  you  feel 
any  better  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  pour  out  the  coffee  for  me,  my  dear.  I 
am  still  somewhat  fatigued." 

"  That  I  will."  And  the  old  woman  poured  the  coffee 
into  his  cup.  "Here  is  the  milk."  And  she  placed  the 
pitcher  near  his  hand. 

Herr  Leonhardt  took  it  carefully,  and  touched  the  edge 
of  his  cup  with  his  hand,  that  he  might  not  pour  in  too 

29* 


342  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

much ;  but,  in  spite  of  his  care,  he  spilt  the  hot  milk 
upon  his  fingers.  He  said  nothing,  but  secretly  wiped 
it  off  and  slowly  put  his  cup  to  his  lips.  His  wife 
laid  a  piece  of  bread  upon  his  plate,  and  this  also  he  ate 
slowly. 

"  Is  it  not  good  ?"  asked  Brigitta. 

"Certainly  it  is,"  he  replied,  "but  pray  eat  your  own 
breakfast."  And  he  listened  to  be  sure  that  she  did  so. 
Then,  when  he  had  drank  his  coffee,  he  felt  for  the  table 
before  he  put  down  his  cup. 

His  wife  looked  at  him  with  anxiety.  "  Bernhard,  I 
think  your  eyes  are  worse  again  to-day." 

"I  think  they  are,"  he  replied  quietly.  "Have  you 
breakfasted?" 

"Yes,  I  have  finished." 

"  Well,  come  then  and  sit  here  beside  me.  I  want  to 
tell  you  something.  Give  me  your  hand,  my  dear  wife,  and 
listen  quietly  to  what  I  have  to  say." 

Frau  Brigitta  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  and  her  heart 
beat  so  quickly — she  knew  not  why — that  it  almost  took 
away  her  breath. 

Herr  Leonhardt  stroked  her  hand,  and  spoke  with  the 
tenderness  with  which  one  speaks  to  a  child.  "  During 
all  these  eighteen  years  that  I  have  been  such  a  care  to 
you,  and  in  all  the  thirty  years  of  our  marriage,  you  have 
never  caused  me  an  hour  of  suffering,  and  I  have  done 
what  I  could  to  aid  and  support  you.  You  have  borne 
bravely  all  our  common  misfortunes,  followed  our  first 
children  to  the  grave  with  me,  and  comforted  me  when 
I  was  overcome  by  despair.  Do  not  let  your  courage 
fail  you  now,  for  I  must  give  you  pain,  I  cannot  help  it. 
Try,  as  you  always  have  done,  to  spare  me  the  pang  of 
seeing  you  sink  under  it.  Promise  me  this  !" 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  my  husband,  speak!  I  will 
promise  you  everything  I" 

"  What  we  have  so  long  feared,  dear  wife,  has  at  last 
come  upon  us!"  He  drew  her  nearer  to  him.  "This 
morning  when  I  awoke  there  was  no  daylight  for  me !" 

A  dull,  half-suppressed  moan  was  heard  at  these  words ; 
then  silence  ensued.  The  old  woman's  hands  slipped 
from  her  husband's, — he  put  his  own  out  towards  her,  but 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  343 

she  was  not  at  his  side.  She  had  sunk  down  from  her 
seat  and  buried  her  face  in  her  arms,  that  he  might  not 
hear  her  sob. 

"Mother,  where  are  you?"  he  asked  after  a  little 
while. 

She  embraced  his  knees  and  hid  her  streaming  eyes 
in  his  lap.  "Oh,  my  poor,  kind  husband, — blind!  Oh 
God!  Those  dear,  dear  eyes!"  And  then  her  grief 
would  not  be  controlled,  and  she  lay  at  his  feet,  sobbing 
loudly. 

Herr  Leonbardt  gently  raised  her  until  her  head  rested 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  then  waited  until  the  first  out- 
break should  be  past.  He  too  had  had  moments  this 
morning  that  none  but  his  God  might  witness.  He  could 
not  ask  his  wife  to  do  what  had  been  impossible  for  him- 
self. At  last  he  said  softly  and  tenderly,  "Brigitta,  you 
have  been  everything  to  me  that  a  wife  can  be  to  her 
husband.  I  have  always  thought  there  was  nothing  left 
for  you  to  do,  and  yet  in  your  old  age  our  loving  Father 
has  filled  up  the  measure  of  your  self-sacrifice  and  laid 
upon  you  a  heavier  burden  than  any  you  have  yet  had  to 
bear.  He  has  taken  from  me  the  power  to  support  you, 
and  calls  upon  you,  a  weary,  aged  pilgrim,  to  be  your 
husband's  staff  upon  his  path  to  the  grave.  It  seems 
very  hard, — but,  dear  Brigitta,  when  God  calls,  what 
should  we  answer?" 

"Lord,  here  am  I!"  said  his  wife,  and  the  resignation 
and  cheerful  submission  in  her  voice  were  truly  wonderful. 
She  embraced  her  aged  husband,  and  her  tears  flowed 
more  gently  as  she  said,  "I  will  guide  and  support  you, 
and  never  be  weary." 

"  Thanks,  dear  heart.  And  now  be  calm,  for  my  sake ! 
Think  how  much  worse  it  would  have  been  if  you  had 
found  me  this  morning  dead  in  my  bed ! '' 

"Oh,  a  thousand  times  worse  !" 

"  Then  do  not  let  us  rebel  because  God  has  taken  from 
me  one  of  the  five  senses,  with  which  He  endows  us  that 
we  may  enjoy  the  glory  of  His  universe,  he  has  still 
left  me  four.  If  I  can  no  longer  see  your  dear  face,  I 
can  still  hear  your  gentle  voice  of  comfort  and  feel  you 
by  my  side;  and  although  I  cannot  see  the  sun,  I  can 


344  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

still  warm  myself  in  its  beams, — I  can  inhale  the  fra- 
grance of  the  flowers  that  it  calls  into  life, — enjoy  the 
fruits  that  it  ripens.  I  can  hear  the  songs  of  the  birds, 
and  with  them  praise  my  Creator  from  the  depths  of  my 
soul.  How  much  he  has  left  me !  We  will  not  be  like 
thankless  beggars,  showing  our  gratitude  for  benefits  by 
complaining  that  they  are  not  great  enough.  I  have  seen 
the  sunlight  for  sixty-eight  years.  Shall  I  complain  be- 
cause, just  before  my  entrance  into  eternal  light,  God 
darkens  my  eyes,  as  we  do  a  child's  when  we  lead  it  up 
to  a  brilliant  Christmas-tree?  I  will  bear  the  bandage 
patiently,  and  try  to  prepare  my  soul  for  the  glories 
awaiting  it.  Let  us  but  remember  all  this,  dear  wife,  and 
we  shall  not  be  sad  any  longer." 

The  old  man  ceased.  His  darkened  eyes  were  radiant 
with  light  from  within,  the  reflection  of  those  heavenly 
beams  of  which  in  spirit  he  had  a  foresight. 

His  wife  had  listened  to  him  with  folded  hands,  and 
her  simple  nature  was  elevated  and  refined  by  thus 
witnessing  his  lofty  resignation.  The  peaceful  silence* 
that  reigned  in  the  room  was  too  sacred  to  be  broken  by 
any  sounds  of  earthly  sorrow.  Her  eyes  were  tearless 
as  she  gazed  upon  the  noble  face  of  the  man  who  was  all 
in  all  to  her,  and  she  waited  humbly  for  further  words 
from  him.  At  last  the  only  words  escaped  her  lips  that 
she  could  utter  in  her  present  frame  of  mind.  "And  our 
son  ?"  she  asked  softly. 

An  expression  of  pain  flitted  across  his  features. 
"  That  is  the  hardest  to  bear, — our  poor  son  !  God  give 
him  strength,  as  He  once  gave  me  strength  when  I  was 
forced  to  leave  the  University  and  become  a  schoolmaster. 
I  told  him  a  short  time  ago  what  the  physicians  said.  I 
did  not  tell  you,  for  I  wanted  to  spare  you  as  long  as 
I  could.  He  sent  me  a  reply  by  return  of  mail,  which 
you  shall  hear,  now  that  I  have  nothing  to  conceal  from 
you.  You  shall  read  it,  and  be  glad  that  you  have  such 
a  son." 

"My  good  boy!" 

"  He  will  give  up  his  studies  and  take  my  place  here,  so 
that  we  need  never  come  to  want." 

"But  will  that  be  allowed?" 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  345 

"Yes, — I  have  already  obtained  permission  from  the 
proper  authorities." 

"Oh,  how  thoughtful  you  have  been!"  cried  his  wife 
with  emotion.  "  With  all  that  burden  to  bear  so  silently, 
and  now  you  console  me  instead  of  my  comforting  you ! 
How  did  such  a  poor  creature  as  I  ever  come  to  have 
such  a  husband  ?" 

She  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  withered  hand.  The  foot- 
steps of  the  school-children  were  heard  in  the  hall.  Herr 
Leonhardt  arose  and  went  to  the  door. 

"Wait!  let  me  lead  you,"  said  Brigitta. 

"Oh,  you  need  not,"  he  said  smiling.  "I  have  been 
preparing  myself  for  blindness  for  a  long  time,  and  I 
have  practised  walking  about  with  closed  eyes,  that  I 
might  not  be  so  helpless  when  the  time  came.  And  so 
now  I  can  find  my  way  very  well."  He  had  reached  the 
door,  and  went  out.  "  Good-morning,  children  !"  he  cried, 
and  felt  his  way  along  the  wall  'to  the  school-room,  fol- 
lowed by  his  anxious  wife.  He  stumbled  a  little  upon 
the  threshold.  "Never  mind,"  he  said  to  Brigitta.  who 
would  have  supported  him.  "  I  need  more  practice,  but  it 
will  be  better  soon."  He  found  his  desk,  seated  himself 
there,  and  waited  until  the  children  had  all  taken  their 
places. 

"Are  you  all  here?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  then,  sit  down, — we  cannot  have  any  school  to- 
day. My  dear  children,  I  must  take  leave  of  you.  I  can- 
not teach  you  any  more.  God  has  taken  from  me  my 
eyesight.  I  cannot  see  you  nor  your  lessons,  and  there- 
fore I  can  no  longer  be  your  schoolmaster.  Your  parents 
will  consider  my  blindness  a  punishment  from  God  for 
my  conduct,  but  I  tell  you,  if  the  trials  God  sends 
us  are  rightly  borne  they  are  not  punishments,  but 
benefits.  Remember  this  all  your  lives  long.  There  will 
come  dark  hours  in  every  one  of  your  lives,  if  you  live 
to  grow  up,  when  you  will  understand  what  your  old 
master  meant.  And  now  come  and  give  me  your  hands, 
one  after  the  other.  So, — I  thank  you  for  your  childlike 
tenderness  and  affection,  and  I  forgive  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart  those  few  who  have  ever  given  me  any 


346  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

trouble.  My  son  will  soon  be  here  in  my  place  ;  promise 
me  to  obey  him,  and  to  make  his  duty  easier  for  him  by 
diligence  and  obedience.  Farewell,  my  dear  children. 
God  bless  and  prosper  you !" 

He  held  out  his  hands,  and  the  children,  sobbing  and 
crying,  thronged  around  him  to  clasp  and  kiss  them. 

"  Who  is  this  ?"  the  old  man  asked  of  each  one,  and 
then,  as  the  names  were  told  him,  he  shook  the  little  hands. 

"  Do  not  cry,  dear  children,  we  are  not  bidding  fare- 
well for  life.  You  will  often  pass  by  the  school-house  on 
Sunday  and  shake  hands  with  your  old  master  as  he  sits 
on  his  bench  before  the  door.  And  then  I  can  guess  by 
the  voice  who  it  is,  and  can  feel  how  much  you  have 
grown,  and  you  can  tell  me  what  you  have  been  learning 
during  the  week.  And  those  who  have  studied  the  best 
shall  have  some  nuts,  or  one  of  my  loveliest  flowers,  or 
some  other  little  gift.  Won't  that  be  delightful  ?" 

The  children  were  consoled  by  this  prospect,  and  hast- 
ened home  to  tell  the  important  news  to  their  parents. 

The  old  man  stood  alone  with  his  wife  in  the  deserted 
school-room.  "  Come,  dear  wife,  we  will  send  a  message 
to  Walter."  He  laid  his  hands  once  more  upon  his  desk, 
and  tears  fell  from  his  eyes.  "  It  is  strange,"  he  said, 
"  how  much  it  costs  us  to  leave  a  spot  where  we  have 
laboured  so  long,  even  although  our  work  has  been  hard 
and  ill  rewarded.  '  Our  home  is  wherever  we  have  been 
used  to  the  consciousness  of  duties  fulfilled,  and  when  we 
must  leave  it,  it  is  as  if  we  were  going  among  strangers  I" 

He  put  his  arm  in  Brigitta's,  and,  with  head  bent, 
crossed  the  threshold  which  separated  him  from  the  hum- 
ble scene  of  the  daily  labour  of  his  life.  For  the  first 
time,  he  looked,  to  his  wife's  anxious  eyes,  like  a  broken- 
down  old  man. 

"  I  must  leave  you  alone  for  an  hour,"  she  said,  when 
she  had  seated  him  in  the  dwelling-room  on  the  bench  by 
the  stove.  "I  must  prepare  the  dinner." 

"  Do  so,  mother ;  man  must  eat,  whether  he  be  merry 
or  sorrowful,  eh  ?  And  we  are  not  really  sorrowful,  are 
we  ?"  And  he  forced  a  smile  and  patted  her  shoulder. 

"  No,  dear  Bernhard,  we  are  not !"  said  his  wife,  strug- 
gling to  repress  a  fresh  burst  of  tears. 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  347 

"  Send  a  messenger  to  town  to  Walter  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible," said  Herr  Leonhardt. 

"  Indeed  I  will.  I  cannot  rest  until  my  boy  is  with  us. 
And  I  will  send  for  the  doctor,  too  !" 

"  Do  not  send  for  the  doctor  ;  he  can  do  nothing  more 
fur  me." 

"  But  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  me  to  see  him, — do  let  me 
send,"  said  Brigitta.  And  she  left  the  room. 

The  old  man  sat  there,  calm  and  still.  "And  now  I 
must  begin  my  new  daily  task, — the  laborious  task  of 
idleness !"  he  thought,  as  he  folded  his  hands  and  gazed 
into  the  night  that  had  closed  around  him  for  this  life. 

He  sat  thus  for  some  time,  when  the  cuckoo  began  to 
announce  the  hour  of  nine,  but  the  last  "  cuckoo"  stuck 
in  the  bird's  throat,  and  he  stood  still  at  his  open  door. 
The  clock  had  run  down.  For  the  first  time  in  many 
years,  Herr  Leonhardt  had  neglected  to  wind  it  up.  He 
arose,  groped  his  way  towards  it,  felt  for  the  weights,  and 
carefully  drew  them  up.  The  cuckoo  took  breath  again, 
finished  bis  song,  and  slammed  to  his  door.  "  I  will  not 
forget  you  again,  little  comrade,"  said  he,  "you,  who 
have  chirped  on  through  such  merry  and  sorry  times. 
How  often  now  shall  I  long  for  you  to  tell  me  when  the 
long,  weary  hours  end!" 

Thus  said  the  old  man  to  himself,  and  again  slipped 
back  to  his  place.  "  There  is  something  done,"  he  said 
as  he  sat  down.  Then  minute  after  minute  passed  by, 
his  head  sank  upon  his  breast,  the  darkness  made  him 
sleepy,  and  for  awhile  even  his  thoughts  faded  and  were 
at  rest. 

His  wife  looked  in  upon  him  several  times,  but  with- 
drew softly,  that  his  sleep  might  not  be  disturbed. 

It  was  almost  twelve  o'clock. 

Then  something  rustled  into  the  room ;  the  old  man 
felt  the  air  stirred  by  an  approaching  form,  and  he  raised 
his  head.  The  figure  threw  itself  at  his  feet.  He  put 
out  bis  hand  and  touched  waves  of  silky  hair. 

"  Father  Leonhardt !" 

"  Oh,  this  is  Fraulein  Ernestine." 

Ernestine  looked  at  him,  and  observed  with  dismay 
that  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  did  not  contract  with  the  light, 


348  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Herr  Leonhardt,  what  is  the  matter  with  your  eyes  ?" 

He  smiled.     "Their  work  is  done." 

"  Good  heavens  !  already  ?  I  thought  they  would  last 
mouths  at  least." 

"  What  matters  a  few  months  more  or  less  ?"  said  the 
old  man  quietly. 

Ernestine  looked  amazed.  Involuntarily  she  clasped 
her  hands.  "  Is  this  possible  ?  I  tremble  from  head 
to  foot  at  the  mere  sight  of'such  a  calamity,  and  you 
— you  upon  whom  it  has  fallen — are  so  perfectly  calm 
and  composed.  Tell  me,  oh,  tell  me,  what  gives  you  such 
superhuman  strength?" 

The  old  man  turned  to  her  his  darkened  eyes.  "  My 
faith,  Fraulein  Ernestine."  » 

Ernestine's  gaze  fell.     "  It  is  well  for  you." 

"  Yes,  it  is  well  for  me,"  repeated  Herr  Leonhardt. 

A  long  pause  ensued.  At  last  the  old  man  asked 
kindly,  "  How  are  you  after  that  terrible  yesterday  ?" 

"  Oh,  Father  Leonhardt,  do  not  ask  me  how  I  am ! 
Until  this  moment  I  thought  myself  very  miserable,  but 
your  calamity  teaches  me  to  despise  my  own  pain.  In 
comparison  with  that,  what  is  all  the  imaginary  unhap- 
piness  that  comes  from  being  misunderstood  ?  What 
matters  it  if  people  despise  me  for  differing  from  them  ? 
What  can  their  esteem  give  me  or  their  contempt  deprive 
me  of?  They  cannot  bestow  upon  me  or  take  from  me 
one  ray  of  sunlight,  one  glimmer  of  the  stars.  The  golden 
day  shines  upon  my  path,  and  I  am  young  and  able  to 
labour.  I  see  the  beauty  of  the  world,  the  universe  is 
painted  upon  my  organs  of  sight,  my  soul  is  bathed  in 
light,  and  how  can  I  give  room  to  mortified  pride  or 
offended  vanity,  when  I  see  a  great  enlightened  soul 
peacefully  resigned  to  endless  night?  No,  Father  Leon- 
hardt, holy  martyr  that  you  are,  I  discard  all  my  petty 
personal  trials,  and  am  grieved  only  for  you."  She  bowed 
her  head  upon  his  hands,  and  sobbed  passionately. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  old  man,  much  moved,  "  you 
are  not  telling  me  the  truth.  The  pain  that  you  have 
suffered  must  be  great  indeed,  for  only  a  heart  that  knows 
what  suffering  is  can  feel  so  for  others'  woes.  Your 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  349 

heart  must  have  been  filled  before  to  overflowing  with 
these  tears  that  you  are  now  shedding  for  me." 

"  Oh,  Father  Leonhardt,  blind  though  you  are,  you 
see  clearl}7.  I  came  to  seek  advice  and  comfort  from 
your  paternal  heart,  and  you  have  comforted  me  even 
before  I  could  tell  you  of  my  grief.  Yes,  there  was 
a  moment  when  I  forgot  myself,  but  it  is  past.  Your 
noble  example  has  made  me  strong  again.  Let  it  go. 
I  can  think  and  talk  now  only  of  yourself.  I  pray  you 
take  me  for  your  daughter.  You  have  treated  me  with 
a  father's  tenderness, — let  me  repay  you  as  a  child  should. 
Yesterday  you  perilled  that  venerable  head  to  save  me 
from  the  angry  mob, — now  let  me  shield  you  from  the 
menacing  phantoms  of  night  and  loneliness.  Come,  live 
iu  iffy  house  with  your  wife.  I  will  be  with  you  as  much 
as  I  can.  I  will  talk  to  you  and  read  to  you.  I  am  so 
lonely,  and, — I  cannot  tell  why, — I  begin  to  thirst  so 
for  love." 

Herr  Leonhardt  clasped  his  hands.  "  Oh,  what  com- 
fort and  delight  Heaven  still  sends  me!  Yes,  although 
my  eyes  are  blind,  I  can  see  the  hidden  beauty  of  the 
heart  that  you  reveal  to  me.  God  bless  you,  my  dear 
daughter,  and  grant  you  the  light  of  His  countenance, 
that  you  may  one  day  recognize  Him  as  your  best  friend 
and  benefactor!"  He  paused,  and  then  added  almost 
timidly,  "  Forgive  me, — I  am  falling  into  a  tone  that  you 
do  not  accord  with.  Remember  that  in  my  youth  I 
studied  theology, — a  little  of  the  pulpit  still  sticks  to  me. 
Do  not  think  that  I  arrogate  the  right  or  ability  to  in- 
struct you.  I,  old  and  broken  down  as  I  am,  am  not  the 
one  to  train  that  proud  spirit.  I  will  accept  the  crumbs 
of  love  that  fall  for  me  from  your  large  heart,  and  grate- 
fully pray  for  your  happiness." 

"  Father  Leonhardt,  do  not  undervalue  yourself.  You 
must  know  how  far  above  me  you  are.  When  I  saw  you 
in  your  simple  greatness  confront  those  rude  men  yester- 
day, I  was  filled,  for  the  first  time  since  my  childhood, 
with  a  sentiment  of  adoration.  You  understand  me,  you 
make  allowance  for  me,  while  every  one  else  misunder- 
stands and  condemns  me.  You  stood  by  me  in  the  hour 
of  danger,  and  yet  you  never  boast  of  your  kindness. 
30 


350  O1TLY  A  GIRL; 

Oh,  you  are  noble  and  true  !  Come  to  me, — let  me  find 
peace  upon  your  paternal  heart,  let  me  give  you  a  home 
and  provide  for  your  son's  future." 

"  Thanks,  thauks  for  all  your  offers,  my  dear  child, 
but  I  cannot  take  advantage  of  your  generosity,  and, 
thank  God,  I  do  not  stand  in  need  of  it.  My  son  has 
already  determined  to  give  up  the  study  of  medicine  and 
take  my  place  here  as  schoolmaster.  Thus,  our  future 
is  provided  for,  we  shall  not  have  to  leave  the  dear  old 
school-house,  and  I  can  die  where  my  whole  life  has  been 
passed." 

"Does  that  thought  comfort  you?"  asked  Ernestine, 
shaking  her  head. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  all  that  I  desire.  Those  who,  like 
yourself,  my  child,  pass  through  life  with  all  sails  set, 
have  no  idea  of  the  restraint  which  those  in  our  class 
must  gradually  learn  to  put  upon  themselves  in  order  not 
to  despair.  Yet  in  this  very  restraint,  in  this  perpetual 
narrow  round  of  duties  that  life  assigns  us,  there  is  hap- 
piness, a  content  that  routine  always  brings.-  You  may 
say  that  routine  blunts  the  faculties, — but,  for  the  most 
part,  it  only  seems  to  do  so.  A  nature  strong  from 
within  will  thrust  its  roots  deep  into  the  soil  of  its 
abiding-place  with  the  same  force  that  enables  it  to  grasp 
the  universe,  and  if  you  should  attempt  to  tear  it  thence 
in  its  old  age,  you  would  almost  tear  its  life  away  also. 
I  love  the  little  spot  of  ground  and  the  little  house  that 
have  been  the  world  to  me.  I  believe  I  should  die  if  I 
had  to  leave  them." 

Ernestine  listened  thoughtfully.  "  Well,  then,  if  I  may 
not  offer  you  a  support,  I  can  at  least  offer  your  son  the 
means  of  pursuing  his  studies.  My  library,  my  appara- 
tus, are  at  his  disposal.  I  hope  he  will  not  refuse  to  make 
use  of  them  in  his  leisure  hours." 

"  That  indeed  is  a  favor  that  I  accept  most  gladly, 
although  I  can  never  hope  to  repay  it !  I  thank  you  in 
my  son's  name.  You  will  know  the  happiness  of  having 
restored  to  a  human  being  what  he  most  prizes, — his  hopes 
for  the  future." 

"  You  amaze  me  more  and  more, "cried  Ernestine  with 
warmth,  "  as  you  afford  me  an  insight  into  the  depth  and 


OR   A    PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  351 

cultivation  of  your  mind.  What  self  mastery  it  must 
have  cost  you  to  live  here  among  these  savages  !" 

The  old  man  smiled.  "  Living  among  them,  one  grad- 
ually grows  like  them  in  some  things,  and  is  no  longer 
shocked.  At  first,  to  be  sure,  I  thought  myself  too  good 
for  them.  But  my  faith  soon  taught  me  that  no  one  is 
too  good  for  the  post  God  has  assigned  him.  When  I 
was  a  student  I  delighted  in  the  theatres,  and  visited 
them  frequently.  Once,  as  I  was  leaving  the  manager's 
room,  I  heard  him  lamenting  the  obstinacy  of  one  of  his 
corps.  '  He  utterly  refuses  to  take  a  subordinate  part. 
Good  heavens  !  they  cannot  all  play  principal  parts !' 
The  man  never  dreamed  of  the  serious  lesson  he  had 
taught  me.  '  All  cannot  play  principal  parts,'  I  said  to 
myself  whenever  the  demon  of  arrogance  assailed  me, 
and  I  gave  myself,  heart  and  soul,  to  the  subordinate 
role  that  had  fallen  to  me  on  the  stage  of  life.  I  soon 
desired  no  better  lot  than  to  hear  some  day  my  Master's 
'  Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant !'  " 

"  All  cannot  play  first  parts, *  murmured  Ernestine. 
"  I  too,  Father  Leonhardt,  will  ponder  these  words." 
She  sat  silent  for  awhile,  then  passed  her  hand  across  her 
brow.  "No!  to  be  nothing  but  a  subordinate,  a  figure 
that  appears  only  to  vanish  again,  occupying  attention 
for  one  moment,  but  just  as  well  away, — no,  that  I 
could  not  endure  !"  She  sprang  up,  and  walked  to  and 
fro. 

"My  dear  Friiulein " 

"  Father,  call  me  Ernestine, — it  is  so  pleasant  to  hear 
one's  first  name  from  those  whom  one  values." 

"  Certainly,  if  you  desire  it.  Then,  my  dear  Ernestine, 
I  was  going  to  answer  you  by  saying  that  no  one  who 
fulfils  the  duties  of  life  conscientiously  is  'as  well  away.' 
As  far  as  the  world  is  concerned,  it  may  be  so;  but  we 
must  not  seek  to  have  the  world  for  our  public,  or  to  find 
the  sole  delight  of  life  in  its  applause.  It  is  not  modest 
to  imagine  one's  self  an  extraordinary  person,  destined 
to  enchain  the  attention  of  nations  upon  the  stage  of  the 
world." 

Ernestine  blushed  deeply. 

Leonhardt   continued:    "Every    one    finds    associates 


352  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

amongst  whom  to  play  a  principal  part,  and  in  whose 
applause  satisfaction  is  to  be  found.  For  these  few  he  is 
no  subordinate,  for  them  he  does  not  '  appear  only  to 
vanish  again.'  Is  not  a  wife,  or  a  husband,  to  whom 
one  may  be  everything,  worth  living  for  ?" 

"  Only  for  persons,  Father  Leonhardt,  who  have  never 
so  soared  above  their  surroundings  as  to  find  the  centre 
of  their  being  in  the  life  of  the  mind  and  what  pertains 
to  it.  Those  who  have  so  far  forgotten  themselves  as  to 
make  the  interests  of  the  world  their  own,  can  only  live 
with  and  for  the  world,  and  it  is  as  impossible  for  them 
to  be  content  in  a  narrow  round  of  private  satisfactions 
as  for  the  plant  to  retreat  into  the  seed  whence  it 
sprung." 

"  Indeed,  Ernestine  ?"  cried  a  familiar  voice  behind 
her. 

She  turned,  startled.  Johannes  had  been  listening 
on  the  threshold  to  the  conversation.  He  was  evi- 
dently in  a  state  of  feverish  agitation.  His  chest  heaved 
passionately  as  he  approached.  "  Would  you  escape 
me  thus  —  thus  ?"  He  took  her  hand,  and  his  eyes 
sought  hers,  as  if  to  dive  into  the  depths  of  her  soul  in 
search  of  the  pearl  of  love  deeply  hidden  there.  There 
was  a  fervent  appeal  in  his  glance, — he  clasped  her  hand, 
and  every  breath  was  an  entreaty,  every  throb  of  his 
heart  a  remonstrance.  Pain,  anxiety,  and  the  haste  of 
pursuit  so  shook  him  that  he  trembled.  Ernestine 
saw,  heard,  felt  it  all,  but  she  stood  mute  and  motion- 
less,— she  could  not  open  her  lips  or  utter  a  sound, — 
she  was  as  if  stunned.  "Ernestine!"  Johannes  cried 
again,  "  Ernestine  !"  The  tone  went  to  her  very  soul, — 
a  low  moan  escaped  her  lips, — she  inclined  her  head  to- 
wards his  breast,  and  would  have  fallen  into  his  arms, — 
but  a  shadow,  the  shadow  of  his  mother,  stepped  in  be- 
tween them  and  darkened  Ernestine's  eyes  so  that  she  no 
longer  saw  the  noble  figure  before  her,  or  the  tears  of 
tenderness  in  his  eyes.  All  around  her  was  cold  and 
dim,  as  when  clouds  veil  the  sun, — his  mother's  shadow 
scared  her  from  his  heart. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  slowly  withdrew  her  hand 
from  his. 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  353 

His  arms  dropped  hopelessly.  A  moment  of  utter 
exhaustion  followed  his  previous  emotion.  He  put  his 
handkerchief  to  bis  forehead,  that  seemed  moist  with 
blood.  His  veins  throbbed, — there  was  a  loud  singing 
in  his  ears, — he  could  hardly  stand.  He  exerted  all  his 
self-control,  and  went  towards  Leonhardt. 

"God  strengthen  you,  Herr  Leonhardt!"  he  said  in 
broken  sentences.  "  I  know  it  ail  from  your  messenger 
to  your  son,  whom  I  met  on  the  road.  I  need  not  oiler 
to  console  you, — you  are  a  man,  and  will  endure  like  a 
man." 

"I  am  a  Christian,  my  dear  Herr  Professor,  and  that 
stands  to  feeble  age  in  the  stead  of  manhood  !" 

"True,  true!"  said  Johannes  with  a  troubled  glance  at 
Ernestine.  She  approached,  and  said  in  a  trembling 
voice, 

"  Father  Leonhardt,  I  must  say  farewell  to  you  now 
and  go  home.  When  your  son  comes,  send  him  to  me." 
She  offered  Mollner  her  hand.  "  Forgive  me,  I  could  not 
help  it !" 

Johannes  mastered  his  emotion,  and  said,  with  appa- 
rent composure,  "I  shall  write  to  you." 

Ernestine  silently  assented,  and  went.  The  old  man 
listened.  He  heard  her  retreating  footsteps  and  Johannes' 
labouring  breath,  and  again  he  saw,  for  all  his  blind  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Herr  Professor,  do  not  let  her  go.  Follow  her 
quickly,  and  let  all  be  explained.  Believe  me,  she  is  an 
angel.  Grudge  her  no  words.  There  is  no  Use  in  writ- 
ing,— her  uncle  can  intercept  all  her  letters.  Spoken 
words  are  safest  and  best.  Quick,  quick,  or  you  may 
both  be  wretched !" 

"  Thanks,  old  friend,  you  are  right !"  cried  Johannes, 
all  aglow  again  ;  and,  before  the  words  were  well  uttered, 
he  was  gone. 

Frau  Brigitta  entered  with  the  soup,  and  looked  after 
him  in  surprise.  "  The  gentleman  seems  in  a  hurry !" 
said  she. 

"  Let  him  go,  mother  dear.  These  young  people  are 
struggling,  amid  a  thousand  fears  and  anxious  hopes,  for  a 
goal  that  we  old  people  have  long  gazed  back  upon  con- 
tentedly. God  guide  them  !" 

30* 


354  O:\LY  A    GIRL; 

Johannes  called  to  his  coachman  to  await  his  return 
before  the  school-house,  and  followed  Ernestine,  who  was 
slowly  pursuing  the  foot-path  directly  before  him.  All 
was  quiet  and  lonely  around,  for  it  was  noon,  and  the 
peasants  were  at  dinner. 

She  looked  round  upon  hearing  Johannes'  step  behind 
her,  and  stood  still.  He  soon  overtook  her. 

"Ernestine,"  he  said  resolutely,  "I  must  have  a  final, 
decisive  word  with  you,  and  Leonhardt  is  right, — it 
should  go  from  heart  to  heart.  Will  you  listen  to  me  ?" 

He  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  as  they  talked 
they  slowly  approached  the  eminence  upon  which  stood 
the  castle. 

"  Ernestine,  dear  Ernestine,  I  would  give  all  that  I 
have  that  the  scene  between  you  and  rny  mother,  this 
morning,  had  never  been.  You  have  been  mortally 
offended,  and  that,  too,  while  you  were  my  guest  in  a 
house  whither  you  had  fled  for  refuge,  and  that  should 
have  been  a  home  to  you.  But  it  happened  in  my 
absence, — it  was  not  my  fault.  Will  you  make  me  suffer 
for  it  ?" 

"  No,  my  friend,  certainly  not." 

"Well,  then,  be  magnanimous  and  forgive  my  mother, 
although  she  never  can  forgive  herself  I" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive." 

"  You  are  implacable  in  your  righteous  anger.  Let 
me  hope  that  the  time  may  come  when  my  mother  may 
atone  for  what  she  said  to  you  to-day.  Dearest -Ernes- 
tine, she  startled  back  your  young  heart,  just  awakening 
to  its  truest  instincts  ;  it  was  a  poor  preparation  for 
what  I  wished  to  say  to  you  to-day,  and  yet, — and  yet  I 
must  speak, — I  can  be  silent  no  longer.  Yes,  Ernestine, 
I  wished  to-day  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife.  I  wished  to 
entreat  of  you  the  sacrifice  that  marriage  demands  of 
every  woman,  and  of  you  more  especially;  and  I  firmly 
believe  that  if  you  could  have  listened  first  to  my  views 
of  the  duties  and  the  lot  of  a  wife,  they  would  not  have 
seemed  to  you  as  terrible  as  from  the  lips  of  my  practical 
mother.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  shield  you  from  the  hard 
materialism  of  life  that  so  alarms  you,  and  to  which  my 
mother  attaches  too  much  importance.  My  white  rose 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  355 

shall  not  be  planted  in  a  kitchen-garden.  You  shall  be 
the  pride  and  ornament  of  my  life.  I  ask  nothing  from 
you  but  love  for  my  heart,  sympathy  in  my  scientific 
pursuits,  and  allowance  for  my  faults."  He  took  her 
band  in  his,  and  stood  still.  "  Ernestine,  will  you  not 
give  me  these  ?" 

With  bated  breath  he  waited  for  her  reply.  In  vain 
his  glance  sought  her  eyes  beneath  their  drooping  lids. 

Ernestine  stood  motionless  in  marble-like  repose,  and 
no  human  being  could  divine  what  was  passing  in  the 
depths  of  her  soul.  At  last  her  pale  lips  breathed  scarcely 
audibly  :  "  I  cannot, — your  mother, — I  cannot " 

"  Oh,  if  you  cannot  love  me,  do  not  make  her  bear  the 
blame,  do  not  overwhelm  her  with  the  curse  of  having 
robbed  her  son  of  the  joy  of  his  life, — that  were  too 
severe  a  punishment !  And,  if  you  do  love  me,  conquer 
your  pride  nobly  by  showing  her  how  she  has  mistaken 
you.  Show  her  all  the  woman  in  you,  and  prove  to  her 
that  you  are  capable  of  self-sacrifice,  and  revenge  could 
not  desire  for  her  more  profound  humiliation." 

"  I  cannot  make  the  sacrifice  that  she  demands ;  and 
if  I  could  I  would  not,  because  she  demands  it  and  makes 
it  a  condition.  A  soul  that  is  free  will  not  barter  away 
its  convictions  and  its  aims,  even  though  the  happiness 
of  a  lifetime  is  at  stake.  When  your  mother  asks  me  to 
resign  my  plan  of  achieving  an  academic  career,  and  to 
bury  the  immature  fruits  of  all  my  labours,  she  is  excus- 
able, for  she  does  not  dream  what  she  asks  ;  but  when 
you  propose  such  conditions,  you  can,  not  only  never  be 
my  husband, — you  can  no  longer  be  my  friend,  for  you 
do  not  understand  me." 

"Good  God,  Ernestine!  what  do  I  ask  of  you  more 
than  what  every  man  asks  of  the  woman  whom  he  wishes 
to  marry, — that  she  shall  live  for  him  alone  ?  And  how 
can  you  do  this  if  you  do  not  relinquish  your  ambition 
and  be  content  with  a  private  life  ?  You  need  not  relin- 
quish science,  you  shall  be  my  confidante,  my  aid  in  all 
my  labours,  my  friend,  sharing  all  my  plans  and  hopes. 
Only  do  not  any  longer  seek  publicity,  do  not  try  to 
obtain  a  degree  or  deliver  lectures.  No  opprobrium  or 
contempt  must  dare  attach  itself  to  the  pure  name  of  my 
wife." 


356  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Ernestine  started  as  if  struck  by  an  arrow.  "  Those 
are  your  mother's  very  words.  What  ?  Do  you,  who 
assume  such  superiority  to  woman,  condescend  to  repeat 
phrases  taught  you  by  your  mother?" 

"  Ernestine,  you  are  unjust.  You  have  long  known  my 
views  concerning  the  position  of  woman,  and  you  cannot 
expect  that  I  should  be  false  to  my  most  sacred  convic- 
tions at  what  is  the  most  important  moment  of  my  life." 

"And  yet  you  require  this  of  me  ?" 

"  A  woman's  convictions,  Ernestine,  are  always  de- 
pendent upon  her  feelings  in  such  matters.  And  where 
feeling  is  concerned,  the  stronger  must  always  conquer 
the  weaker.  Hitherto  you  have  been  moved  only  by  the 
wrongs  of  your  sex, — they  are  all  that  you  have  known 
anything  of.  When  you  love,  you  will  learn  to  know  its 
joys,  and  be  all  the  more  ready  to  resign  your  vain 
championship  for  your  husband's  sake." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  asked  Ernestine  with  unaccustomed 
irony. 

"I  hope  so.  It  is  our  only  chance  for  happiness.  I 
am  true  to  you,  and  tell  you  beforehand  what  I  look  for 
from  you.  I  will  not  influence  your  decision  by  flattery 
or  false  acquiescence.  It  must  be  formed  in  full  view  of 
the  duties  it  imposes  upon  you,  or  it  will  be  worthless. 
You  may  think  this  a  rude  fashion  to  be  wooed  in,  and 
perhaps  you  are  right.  But  I  will  not  win  my  wife  by 
those  arts  which  woman's  vanity  has  made  such  power- 
ful aids  to  the  lover.  I  will  not  owe  my  wife  to  a  weak- 
ness,— and  vanity  certainly  is  a  weakness.  Your  love 
for  me  must  be  all  strength.  I  would  have  you  great 
indeed  when  you  give  yourself  to  me, — and  when  is  a 
woman  greater  than  when  she  conquers  her  pride  and 
herself  for  love's  sake  ?  In  her  self-conquest  she  accom- 
plishes what  heroes,  who  have  subdued  nations,  have 
found  too  hard  a  task,  for  it  requires  the  greatest  human 
effort.  It  is  true,  the  world  will  not  shout  applause, — 
deeds  truly  great  often  shun  the  eyes  of  the  multitude: 
in  the  renunciation  of  all  acknowledgment  there  is  a  joy 
known  only  to  a  few.  Within  quiet  convent  walls,  past 
which  the  stream  of  human  life  flows  heedlessly,  many  a 
victory  over  self  has  been  attained  that  was  never  re- 


OR  A    PHYSIC  IAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  357 

warded  by  a  single  earthly  laurel.  What  awaits  the  end 
of  the  painful  contest  ?  The  grave  !  But  I  ask  of  you, 
Ernestine,  far  less  of  sacrifice,  and  surely  there  is  a  re- 
ward to  reap  in  bestowing  perfect  happiness  upon  one 
who  loves  you.  Do  you  hesitate?  Is  the  struggle  not 
ended  ?  Can  your  royal  soul  not  cast  aside  the  self-im- 
posed chains  of  false  ambition?  Oh,  Ernestine,  do  not 
let  me  implore  you  further ;  say  only  one  word, — to  whom 
will  you  belong, — to  your  uncle,  or  to  me  ?" 

"  To  myself,  for  no  human  being  can  belong  to  any 
other!"  And  her  look  at  Johannes  was  almost  one  of 
aversion.  "Yes,  now  I  see  that  you  are  your  mother's 
son.  I  see  her  stern  features,  I  hear  her  voice  of  remon- 
strance, and  I  see  myself  between  you, — a  creature  with- 
out will, — no  longer  capable  of  independent  thought  or 
feeling,  still  less  of  rendering  any  service  to  the  world. 
Am  I  to  cast  aside  like  a  garment  what  has  been  the 
guiding  hope  of  my  life, — my  dream  by  night  and  day, — 
and  go  to  your  mother  begging  for  forgiveness  and  in- 
dulgence, excusing  myself  like  a  child,  and  promising 
future  improvement,  that  I  may  humbly  receive  from 
her  cold  lips  the  kiss  of  condescending  pardon?  Again 
and  again,  No  !  What  right  has  your  mother  to  regard 
me  as  a  criminal,  and  to  attempt  to  improve  me  ?  Whom 
have  I  injured  ?  What  law  of  propriety  have  I  infringed, 
that  she  should  treat  me  like  some  noxious  thing  in  the 
world?  I  have  lived  in  calm  retirement,  asking  for  no 
happiness  but  that  of  labour.  Why  should  she  insist 
upon  thrusting  another  kind  of  happiness  upon  me,  and 
blame  me  for  not  considering  it  as  such  ?  Did  I  seek  her 
out  ?  Was  it  not  against  my  will,  and  only  in  accordance 
with  your  earnest  entreaties,  that  I  accompanied  you  to 
her  house  ?  Why  should  she  drive  me  from  it  like  an 
intruder,  and  impose  upon  me  conditions  of  a  return  that 
I  did  not  desire  ?  Oh,  if  you,  noble  and  true  as  I  once 
thought  you,  had  loved  me,  not  as  you  thought  I  ought 
to  be,  but  as  I  am,  with  all  my  faults  and  eccentricities, 
I  would  have  striven  for  your  sake  to  become  the  most 
perfect  woman  in  the  world.  And  if  you  had  said  to  me, 
'  Be  my  companion, — I  will  help  you  to  vindicate  the 
honour  of  your  sex,  whatever  is  sacred  to  you  shall  be 


358  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

so  to  me  also,' — if  you  had  thus  acknowledged  my  indi- 
viduality, and  had  intrusted  your  happiness,  your  honour, 
to  my  keeping,  without  other  warranty  than  the  dictates 
of  your  own  heart,  I  would  have  bowed  in  reverence  to 
a  love  so  powerful, — I  would  gladly  have  sacrificed  my 
freedom  to  you, — to  please  you,  I  would  have  performed 
the  hardest  task  of  all — humiliated  myself  before  your 
haughty  mother!  But  when  you  come  to  me  thus, — only 
her  echo, — when  you  make  it  the  foundation  of  our  happi- 
ness that  I  should  be  what  she  chooses,  and  try  to  assure 
yourself  at  the  outset  that  I  will  submit  to  all  your  re- 
quirements, that  you  may  run  no  risk  from  such  a  self- 
willed  creature, — all  this  shows  me  that  she  has  separated 
us  utterly.  I  have  lost  you,  and  all  that  you  have  given 
me  is  the  knowledge  that  I  have  no  place  in  this  world, 
and  that  I  am  miserable!" 

Johannes  stood  pale  and  mute  before  her,  but  his  pure 
conscience  bhone  in  his  steady  eyes.  Ernestine  did  not 
venture  to  look  at  him.  With  trembling  hands  she 
plucked  to  pieces  a  twig  that  she  had  just  broken  from  a 
bush  at  her  side. 

"  After  this  we  can  be  nothing  more  to  each  other,"  he 
began ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  every  word  fell  from  his  lips 
into  her  heart  like  molten  lead.  He  took  breath,  as  if 
after  some  violent  physical  exertion,  and  then  continued: 
"  I  do  not  answer  the  accusations  with  which  you  have 
overwhelmed  my  mother  and  myself.  They  grieve  me 
for  your  sake.  They  are  unworthy  of  your  nobler  self. 
I  have  treated  you  as  I  was  compelled  to  do  by  my  sense 
of  honour.  I  have  told  you  what  was,  according  to  my 
profoundest  convictions,  indispensable  tp  the  happiness 
of  marriage.  That  you  refuse, — that  you  can  refuse  me 
the  sacrifice  I  ask  of  you, — proves  to  me  that  you  do  not 
love  me.  This  is  what  separates  us.  And  I  pray  you 
to  remember  that,  as  I  sacredly  believe,  it  is  the  duty 
of  a  man  to  convince  himself  that  the  woman  whom  he 
seeks  to  marry  is  fitted  to  be  the  mother  of  his  children ; 
and  your  heart  is  not  yet  open  to  the  wide,  self- for  getting 
affection  that  can  alone  suffice  to  enable  a  woman  to  un- 
dertake the  hard  duties  of  a  wife  and  mother.  Will  it 
ever  be  thus  open  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  Another  may  one 


OR   A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  359 

day  reap  in  joy  what  I  have  sown  in  pain.  I  do  not  re- 
proach you, — how  could  1  ?"  He  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
head,  his  eyes  were  for  one  moment  suffused.  As  he 
looked  at  her,  grief  had  the  mastery,  and  he  was  silent. 
She  was  crushed  beneath  his  gaze,  her  artificial  compo- 
sure forsook  her,  a  cry  escaped  her  lips.  She  now  first 
began  to  perceive  what  she  had  done,  and  her  heart  shrunk 
from  the  burden  that  she  had  laid  upon  it,  although  she 
did  not  as  yet  dream  of  its  weight. 

Johannes  genlly  smoothed  her  hair  from  her  brow. 
Her  agitation  restored  his  self-control. 

"  You  are  kind,  Ernestine, — you  see  how  you  have 
hurt  me,  and  you  are  sorry  for  me.  It  is  the  way  with 
women.  This  little  weakness  does  you  honour  in  my 
eyes.  I  pray  you  be  composed.  I  am  quite  calm  again." 
He  would  have  withdrawn  his  hand,  but  she  held  it 
fast  and  looked  up  at  him  with  those  eyes  of  sad  en- 
treaty that  had  worked  such  magic  upon  him  when  she 
was  a  child. 

"  Do  not  utterly  forsake  me  !"  she  whispered  in  half- 
stifled  accents. 

"  No,  as  truly  as  I  trust  my  God  will  not  forsake  me, 
I  will  not  forsake  you.  I  will  not  shun  you  like  a  cow- 
ard, who,  to  make  renunciation  easy  and  to  learn  for- 
getfulness,  turns  his  back  upon  the  good  he  cannot  attain. 
You  need  a  friend  who  can  protect  you,  placed  as  you 
are  with  regard  to  your  uncle  and  the  world.  This  friend 
I  will  be  to  you,  until  you  find  a  worthier.  Do  not  fear 
that  you  will  hear  another  word  of  love,  or  of  regret.  I 
will  conquer  my  grief  alone.  My  one  care  shall  be  for 
your  happiness.  Farewell,  and  when  you  have  need  of 
me  send  for  me."  He  pressed  her  hands  once  more,  and 
turned  away  without  another  word. 

Ernestine  looked  after  him  as  he  receded  from  her  gaze. 
She  looked  and  looked  until  he  turned  a  corner  and  van- 
ished. Then  she  sank  on  her  knees  and  cried  in  an  out- 
burst of  anguish,  "  Have  I  really  had  the  strength  to 
do  this  ?" 

She  must  have  remained  thus  some  time  beneath 
the  shade  of  the  trees,  when  the  sound  of  carriage- 
wheels  approaching  startled  her  to  consciousness.  It 


360  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

was  her  uncle.  He  stopped  the  vehicle  and  descended 
from  it. 

"You  can  take  out  the  horses,"  he  said  to  the  coach- 
man. "I  shall  not  drive  to  town."  The  man  turned 
and  drove  home  again. 

Leuthold  stood  mute  before  Ernestine,  piercing  her 
soul  with  his  penetrating  glance.  He  had  learned  from 
Frau  Willmers  everything  that  had  occurred  the  day 
before,  but  nothing  of  the  intercourse  that  had  pre- 
viously taken  place  between  Ernestine  and  Johannes. 
Scarcely  a  week  had  passed,  and  had  his  ward  already 
escaped  him — fled  with  an  utter  stranger  ?  The  thing  was 
impossible.  Ernestine  was  no  coward, — a  crowd  of 
drunken  peasants  could  never  have  driven  the  shy  girl 
into  the  arms  of  the  first  stranger  whom  she  met.  She 
must  have  previously  known  her  magnanimous  cham- 
pion. He  interrogated  the  other  servants,  but  they  one 
and  all  hated  him  and  were  devoted  to  Frau  Willmers. 
They  all  declared  their  entire  ignorance, — "the  Fraulein 
must  have  met  the  gentleman  at  the  school-house, — he 
was  often  there." 

This  was  enough  to  prove  to  Leuthold  that  the  ground 
was  unsteady  beneath  his  feet,  and  for  a  moment  he  suc- 
cumbed under  the  weight  of  this  new  anxiety.  Was  it 
possible  to  guard  a  woman  more  strictly,  to  seclude  her 
more  utterly,  than  he  had  guarded  and  secluded  Ernes- 
tine ?  And  yet — yet  in  this  heart,  that  he  thought  long 
since  dead,  impulses  were  strong  that  would  seek  and 
find  expression  in  spite  of  every  precaution  that  he  might 
take.  And  all  this  at  a  moment  when  he  was  battling 
for  life  and  death  with  a  peril  which  required  younger 
and  more  unbroken  energies  than  his  own! 

It  was  too  much  ;  a  presentiment  seized  him  that  fate 
had  decreed  his  ruin.  But  he  collected  himself  once 
more,  and  took  counsel  with  himself,  as  was  his  custom 
in  all  emergencies.  As  we  turn  to  Heaven  when  all 
around  us  seems  dark,  so  he  turned  in  his  direst  need 
to  his  own  understanding  and  will,  that  had  hitherto 
sufficed  him. 

Allowing  himself  but  brief  refreshment  after  all  his 
anxiety  and  alarm,  he  ordered  the  carriage  and  set  out 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  361 

for  town  to  bring  home  his  ward.  But,  to  his  great  sur- 
prise and  delight,  he  found  her  thus  near  hotne,  evidently 
weary  and  disconsolate. 

"  Aha,  like  the  mermaid  in  your  beloved  fable,  you  have 
been  trying  your  fortunes  among  mankind,  away  from 
your  cool,  clear,  native  element,"  he  said  to  himself  with 
a  smile.  "  They  liked  you  well,  I  doubt  not,  at  first  sight, 
but  you  have  not  gained  much,  for  they  soon  discovered 
that  you  were  half  fish  and  not  fit  to  live  with  them  !" 

As  he  approached  her,  he  put  on  an  expression  of  dis- 
tress, and  when  the  coachman  had  gone  he  began  in  a 
tone  of  great  anxiety,  "  Merciful  heavens,  do  I  find  you 
thus  ?  Weeping  by  the  roadside  like  a  homeless  beggar!" 

"  True,  true  indeed, — like  a  homeless  beggar,"  Ernes- 
tine repeated. 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  is  this  becoming, — such  a  scene 
in  this  open  spot, — writhing  on  the  ground  here  like  a 
worm  ?" 

She  looked  at  him.  He  had  on  a  broad-brimmed,  light- 
gray  felt  hat.  As  ever,  his  costume  was  faultless.  Stand- 
ing before  her  with  a  lowering  glance,  his  tall,  supple 
figure  now  bending  down  to  her,  his  eyes  riveted  upon 
her,  he  it  was  that  seemed  to  her  like  a  worm,  and  a  most 
poisonous  one,  and  with  unmistakable  aversion  she 
sprang  up  and  recoiled  from  him. 

He  stepped  back  and  looked  at  her  with  amazement. 
"What!  is  this  Ernestine  von  Hartwich,  whom  I  have 
educated — whose  philosophical  composure  nothing  could 
disturb  ?  or  is  this  wayward  child  a  changeling,  brought 
hither  by  some  evil  sprite  ?" 

"  Spare  me  your  sneers,  uncle,"  said  Ernestine  impe- 
riously. "  They  disgust  me  !" 

Leuthold's  amazement  increased  still  further.  "What 
— what  words  are  these  ?  Is  this  what  is  taught  at  Frau 
Stnatsrathin  Mb'Ilner's  ?  Upon  my  word,  Ernestine,  I  be- 
lieve you  are  ill." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  am,  and  I  pray  you  to  leave  me.  You  can- 
not restore  me  to  health." 

"  What  an  amount  of  mischief  has  been  done  in  these 
few  days  when  you  were  without  my  advice  and  protec- 
tion !  It  is  true,  I  cannot  tell  what  has  happened,  but 

31 


362  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

something  serious  must  have  occurred.  I  forbear  to  re- 
proach you  for  making  acquaintances  without  my  knowl- 
edge, and  for  leaving  the  house  without  my  permission, 
and  thus  causing  me  great  anxiety,  for  I  see  you  are  suf- 
ficiently punished  already,  but,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  do 
so  again.  You  see  now  what  comes  of  it." 

"  And  I  beg  of  you,  uncle,  not  to  treat  me  thus,  like  a 
child,  who  must  say,  after  she  has  been  chastised,  '  I  will 
not  do  so  again  !'  If  I  wished  to  return  to  the  world,  of 
which  I  had  my  first  experience  yesterday,  you  could  not 
forbid  me  to  do  so,  for" — involuntarily  she  repeated  what 
the  Staatsrathin  had  said — "you  cannot  forbid  my  doing 
what  does  not  infringe  the  law.  But  I  do  not,  and  never 
shall,  wish  to  return, — never  !  I  am  out  of  place  among 
other  people.  I  do  not  understand  their  ways,  nor  they 
mine."  She  looked  at  Leuthold  with  suspicion.  "  I  do 
not  know  whether  you  have  been  right  in  bringing  me  up 
as  a  perfect  recluse, — in  making  me  so  unfit  for  life  in  the 
world.  Who  can  tell  that  it  would  not  have  been  better 
to  leave  me  my  simplicity  of  heart,  and  not  to  have  led 
me  into  paths  whence  there  is  no  return?  I  will  struggle 
on  in  my  lonely  way  as  never  woman  struggled  before, 
until  the  day  comes  when  I  can  convince  and  shame  the 
most  incredulous.  But  let  me  tell  you,  uncle,  that  if 
the  day  never  comes  when  my  fame  atones  to  me  for  all 
the  happiness  I  have  resigned, — then,  uncle,  I  shall  curse 
you !" 

She  spoke  the  last  words  with  an  expression  that 
alarmed  even  the  cold-blooded  Leuthold.  In  an  instant 
he  grasped  the  whole  situation.  He  saw  that  she  had 
made  some  sacrifice  to  her  ambition  that  was  almost  too 
great  for  her  strength.  His  ready  wit  soon  divined  what 
had  occurred.  It  was  a  blow,  of  the  significance  of  which 
he  was  perfectly  aware.  He  felt  that  he  bad  reached  a 
crisis  that  demanded  all  his  caution  and  forethought,  and 
be  did  not  venture  to  speak  until  he  had  pondered  well 
what  course  to  adopt.  Thus  they  arrived  at  the  gate  of 
the  castle-garden  in  silence.  He  opened  it  for  Ernestine 
to  pass  in.  As  they  walked  past  the  spot  where  she  had 
stood  with  Johannes  on  the  previous  evening,  Ernc.-nino 
burst  into  tears.  Leuthold  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  363 

she  controlled  herself  and  walked  hastily  on.  As  always, 
he  had  the  effect  of  cold  water  upon  her.  Her  wound 
did  not  bleed  in  his  presence. 

"  I  was  greatly  irritated  when  I  learned,  upon  my 
arrival  this  morning,  what  had  happened,"  he  began 
at  last.  "Our  very  lives  are  not  secure  in  the  midst 
of  this  mob  of  ignorant  peasants.  We  must  seriously 
think  of  removing  elsewhere, — we  cannot  possibly  remain 
here." 

Ernestine  made  a  gesture  of  dissent. 

"  What,  you  do  not  wish  to  go  ?  What  can  induce  you 
to  stay  here,  where  all  are  so  hostile  to  you  ?" 

Ernestine  did  not  reply.  After  a  pause  she  said  curtly, 
"Very  well.  You  have  proposed  our  departure, — that 
is  enough  for  the  present.  I  will  think  of  it." 

They  entered  the  house. 

"Ernestine,  I  have  brought  you  the  sphygmometer 
I  promised  you, — would  you  like  to  see  it?" 

"  No,  I  will  go  to  my  room  and  rest." 

Leuthold  knew  not  what  to  do.  He  did  not  wish  to 
leave  her  to  herself,  but  would  have  made  use  of  her  agi- 
tation to  extort  her  secret  from  her.  She  had  reached 
the  door  when  he  cried  after  her,  "Apropos,  Ernestine  ! 
I  congratulate  you  !" 

"  Upon  what?" 

"  I  committed  an  indiscretion  this  morning,  and  found 
upon  your  table  the  essay  that  you  have  withheld  from 
me  for  so  long.  I  assure  you,  Ernestine,  I  was  actually 
astounded !  It  is  far  beyond  anything  you  have  ever 
done  before, — it  will  be  a  perfect  bomb-shell  in  the  scien- 
tific world  !' 

Ernestine  dropped  the  handle  of  the  door  and  looked 
sadly  at  him.  "  Do  you  think  so  ?"  She  shook  her  head. 
"  They  will  not  pay  it  any  attention." 

"  Oh,  you  are  mistaken.  It  must  make  its  mark.  Be 
easy  upon  that  point.  How  did  such  a  magnificent 
thought  occur  to  you  ?" 

"As  such  thoughts  always  occur, — if  it  can  only  be 
verified !" 

"  Oh,  most  certainly  it  can  be  verified.  I'll  warrant 
its  correctness.  Girl,  there  is  a  great  future  in  store  for 


364  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

you.  I  thought  I  knew  you,  but  you  continually  sur- 
prise me  by  your  genius." 

"  Oh,  uncle,  I  scarcely  dare  to  hope.  I  know  now  how 
men  despise  the  attainments  of  learned  women.  There 
is  no  use  in  talking  or  writing  unless  I  can  adduce  proofs, 
irrefragable  proofs,  that  are  accessible  to  all.  The  science 
of  to-day  demands  facts,  and,  if  I  cannot  procure  them,  I 
can  never  convince  these  prejudiced  minds." 

"  Be  assured  that  every  one  who  reads  that  paper  of 
yours  will  be  spurred  on  to  make  experiments  in  the 
matter.  Leave  it  to  those  practised  in  technicalities  to 
work  out  the  demonstration.  The  merit  of  the  idea  will 
always  be  yours." 

"And  even  if  they  find  it  worth  the  trouble  to  investi- 
gate the  matter,  and  then  do  it  so  carelessly  that  they 
do  not  arrive  at  the  desired  result,  it  will  always  be 
thought  a  mere  hypothesis,  and  I  a  learned  fool.  Madame 
du  Chatelet  was  laughed  at  for  publishing  her  novel  idea 
that  the  different  colours  of  the  spectrum  gave  out  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  heat.  What  did  it  profit  her  that  Ro- 
chon,  forty  years  afterwards,  hit  on  the  experiments  that 
yielded  the  proof  of  her  hypothesis  ?*  She  had  long  been 
mouldering  in  the  grave,  and  not  a  laurel  had  ever  been 
laid  upon  it.  Oh,  this  is  a  miserable  existence  !  How 
long  must  we  toil  on  thus,  step  by  step?" 

Involuntarily  she  left  the  door  of  her  room,  and  ap- 
proached her  uncle. 

He  took  her  clasped  hands,  and  felt  that  she  was  again 
within  his  power.  "  Until  there  is  a  woman  with  suffi- 
cient force  to  withstand  a  man.  They  are  all  Brunhil- 
das, — these  mighty  heroines.  They  fall  victims  to  the 
Siegfrieds  Avho  master  them.  You,  Ernestine,  are  per- 
haps the  only  woman  capable  of  accomplishing  the  task 
calmly  and  with  a  clear  mind.  You  succumb  to  no 
inferior  passion,  but  keep  your  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the 
mark.  You  will  shatter  the  prejudices  of  the  world, 
and  no  human  being  will  dream  who  aided  you  in  your 
work.  I  have  long  forgotten  how  to  think  and  act  for 
my  own  advantage.  You  are  my  pride,  something  more 

*  See  Du  Bois  Rejmond :  Voltaire,  in  Relation  to  Natural  Science. 
Berlin,  1868. 


07?  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  365 

than  my  child, — the  child  of  my  mind.  Your  education 
is  my  work,  your  honour  is  my  honour.  Come  then,  I 
have  been  thinking  of  it,  and  believe  I  have  hit  upon  an 
experiment  that  will  demonstrate  your  idea." 

"  Uncle,  what  is  it  ?"  cried  Ernestine,  flushing  up. 

"  Come  into  the  laboratory  now.  We  will  see,  upon 
the  spot,  what  can  be  done." 

"  Uncle,"  said  Ernestine,  overflowing  with  gratitude, 
"you  give  me  new  life!  Forgive  me  for  doubting  you 
and  doing  you  injustice  for  a  moment !" 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear  child,  it  is  all  forgotten.  I  can 
easily  imagine  how  others  have  assailed  me  to  you,  and 
that  you  gave  heed  to  them.  Have  we  not  all  our  hours 
of  weakness  ?" 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,  uncle,  it  was  an  hour  of  Aveakness !" 
And  in  deep  humiliation  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"I  can  guess,"  said  Leuthold  calmly,  with  his  melo- 
dious insinuating  voice.  "  They  burdened  your  heart, — 
you  have  been  spoken  to  of  love, — you  have  been  sought 
for  a  wife.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

Ernestine  made  no  reply. 

"  They  knew  you  for  the  feminine  Samson  that  you 
are,  and  would  have  shorn  your  hair,  that  they  might 
call  out,  '  The  Philistines  are  upon  you  !' " 

Ernestine  interrupted  him.  "  Hush,  uncle  !  not  one 
word,  in  that  tone,  of  a  man  who  is  sacred  to  me  I" 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  offend  you  !  I  am  not  speak- 
ing of  him,  but  of  his  lady-mother,  who  has  him  fast  by 
her  apron-string."  And  he  gave  her  a  quick,  keen  glance. 

"And  never  mention  his  mother  to  me!  I  hate  her!" 
cried  Ernestine  angrily,  ascending  with  him  the  stairs  to 
the  laboratory. 

Leuthold  now  knew  enough.  "  I  can  readily  under- 
stand that  these  people  should  have  tried  to  turn  you 
against  me, — for  he  who  seeks  to  win  you  must  first  re- 
move me  from  his  path.  This  they  well  know,  and  their 
attempt  is  natural.  But  you,  with  your  calm  power  of 
reasoning,  can  soon  convince  yourself  that  they  require 
of  you  no  less  a  sacrifice  than  your  entire  self,  and  that 
unbounded,  although  perhaps  unconscious,  selfishness  is 

31* 


366  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

the  mainspring  of  their  proceedings,  while  I,  as  long  as 
you  have  known  me,  have  treated  you  with  thorough  disin- 
terestedness. They  humiliated  you  in  your  own  esteem 
that  you  might  be  bought  at  a  more  reasonable  price.  I 
can  see  by  your  depressed  condition  how  they  discour- 
aged you.  I  will  restore  your  confidence  in  yourself,  and 
let  this  act  of  mine  prove  to  you  that  I  desire  nothing  of 
you  but  that  you  remain  true  to  yourself.  This  is  all  the 
satisfaction  I  ask.  And  now  all  is  right  again,  is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  said  Ernestine,  collecting  her  energies 
afresh.  "  And  now  come,  let  us  try  the  experiment  you 
spoke  of." 

Leuthold's  light  eyes  sparkled  with  triumph  as  he  heard 
these  words,  and  together  they  entered  the  apartment 
containing  her  costly  scientific  apparatus. 

But,  exert  herself  as  she  might,  her  labour  was  all  in 
vain.  Her  hands  trembled,  everything  grew  dim  before 
her  eyes.  Her  interest  in  the  matter  flagged ;  other 
thoughts  intruded  upon  her  mind.  With  superhuman 
resolution,  she  made  further  efforts,  and  the  hectic  spot, 
so  alarming  to  a  physician,  appeared  on  either  cheek. 
Leuthold  did  not  notice  them.  He  was  so  absorbed  in 
his  work  that  he  started,  as  if  from  a  dream,  when  she 
fainted  away  by  his  side. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   WEAKNESS   OF    STRENGTH. 

THE  Bergstrasse  was  quiet  and  lonely  when  Johannes 
returned  from  Hochstetten.  The  inmates  of  the  houses 
there  were  all  within-doors,  shielding  themselves  from 
the  heat  of  the  midday  sun,  reflected  with  oppressive 
intensity  from  the  white  houses.  Johannes  leaned  back 
motionless  in  the  carriage,  his  eyes  covered  will)  his  hand. 
He  never  looked  up  when  some  dogs  came  barking  around 
the  wheels, — indeed,  he  did  not  hear  them.  The  exte- 
rior world  was  dead  for  him. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  367 

"  Halte-ltt!"  cried  a  voice  from  a  carriage  drawn  up 
before  his  own  door.  "  Parbleu!  il  dort." 

Johannes  raised  his  head.  The  Worronska  was  await- 
ing- him. 

His  carriage  stopped.  He  got  out,  and  the  Worronska 
beckoned  him  to  her.  Contrary  to  her  custom,  she  was 
not  holding  the  reins  to-day,  and  was  not  seated  upon 
the  box. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  come.  I  came  myself  to  see  you, 
Professor  Mollner,  as  I  received  no  answer  to  my  note, — 
and  I  was  just  driving  away." 

Johannes  was  confused.  He  had  received  the  note 
she  had  alluded  to,  but  had  not  opened  it. 

"  Pray  lend  me  your  arm.  Have  you  one  moment  for 
me?" 

"  I  am  at  your  service,"  said  Johannes  gravely,  and 
he  helped  her  out  of  her  carriage. 

"  Will  you  grant  me  a  short  audience  in  your  house, — 
or  am  I  unworthy  to  enter  this  temple  of  science  ?" 

Johannes  opened  the  door  for  her.  "  My  simple  dwell- 
ing is  but  poorly  adapted  for  the  reception  of  such  dis- 
tinguished guests.  I  can  scarcely  hope  that  you  can  be 
confortable  here,  even  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  How  pleasant  this  is!"  she  cried,  as  he  led  the  way 
to  his  office.  "  Believe  me,  I  like  this  much  better  than  my 
marble  halls,  where  there  is  no  breath  of  true  feeling." 

"I  should  have  thought  that  one  like  yourself  could 
always  collect  warm-hearted  friends  about  her,"  said 
Johannes  absently,  only  for  the  sake  of  saying  some- 
thing. 

The  countess  looked  at  him  for  an  instant  suspiciously. 
She  knew  in  what  repute  she  was  held,  and  the  compli- 
ment was  perhaps  ambiguous.  But  the  cloud  upon  his 
brow  convinced  her  that  his  thoughts  were  busy  else- 
where. She  looked  in  his  eyes,  but  his  gaze  fell  before 
hers,  as  we  look  away  from  what  offends  our  delicacy. 
The  countess  interpreted  it  otherwise, — his  embarrass- 
ment flattered  her. 

"  Do  you  call  the  crowd  of  coarse  flatterers,  who  once 
surrounded  me,  warm-hearted  people  ?"  she  asked  in  a 
tone  of  disdain. 


368  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  If  you  found  none  such  amongst  them,  I  must  lament 
that  they  kept  all  such  from  your  side.  For  no  man  of 
sincere  and  warm  heart  could  approach  you  as  long  as 
you  were  surrounded  by  such  a  throng." 

The  countess  rose  from  the  sofa,  upon  which  she  had 
thrown  herself.  "  I  sent  them  from  me  long  ago :  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent  the  approach  of  any  man  of  noble 
character, — but  none  such  attempt  it, — I  must  go  half- 
way to  seek  them." 

Johannes  was  silent.  The  conversation  was  an  infinite 
weariness  to  him :  he  had  need  of  all  his  chivalry  to  en- 
able him  to  endure  it  with  becoming  patience. 

"  You  are  out  of  spirits,  Dr.  Mollner.  Am  I  the  cause 
of  it?" 

"  What  a  question,  countess  !  Could  I  say  yes,  even 
if  you  were  ?  I  must  have  been  guilty  of  great  rudeness 
towards  you,  if  you  can  suspect  me  of  such  gaucherie." 

"  I  certainly  cannot  boast  of  any  exaggerated  courtesy 
from  you." 

"  I  never  force  upon  others  what  can  have  no  possible 
value  for  them,"  said  Johannes  coldly. 

The  countess  bit  her  lip.     "  Is  that  meant  for  me  ?" 
"  I  do  not  see  how.     I  said  nothing  that  could  in  any 
way  apply  to  vou." 
"  Indeed  ?" " 

"  It  surprises  me  to  have  to  assure  you  of  it,"  replied 
Johannes,  Avho  began  to  divine  that  he  had  touched  a 
sensitive  spot  in  the  countess's  mind. 

"  Then  I  believe  you.  Now  let  me  force  upon  you 
what  can  indeed  have  no  value  for  you,  but  what  people 
usually  prize  greatly, — money." 

She  opened  a  pocket-book,  and  counted  out  a  number 
of  bank-notes.  "  See,  I  have  come  to  give  you  what  I  can 
for  the  little  girl  who  was  injured.  Here  are  ten  thousand 
roubles.  I  have  no  more  ready  money  just  at  present. 
Do  you  think  I  may  offer  this  to  the  people  now  ?" 

"You  are  very  generous,  countess,  but  it  would  be 
a  greater  kindness  to  these  simple  people  not  to  put 
the  whole  sum  into  their  hands  at  once.  If  1  may 
advise  you,  just  settle  upon  the  little  girl  a  small  annuity 
for  life, — that  will  preserve  her  from  want, — sin^e  she 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  369 

must  lose  her  arm,  she  will  hardly  be  able  to  support 
herself.  These  people  will  not  know  what  to  do  with  so 
large  a  sum  all  at  once." 

"  Do  you  invest  it  for  them,  then,  in  the  way  you 
think  best.  An  annuity  is  out  of  the  question  :  I  might 
die,  and  then  there  would  be  difficulties  thrown  in  the 
way  of  its  payment.  No.  I  have  written  to  my  agent 
in  St.  Petersburg  for  forty  thousand  roubles  more.  Then 
the  child  will  be  in  possession  of  fifty  thousand  roubles, 
and  can  live  upon  this  sum  in  Germany  quite  com- 
fortably." 

"  Countess,"  cried  Johannes,  looking  at  her  with  un- 
feigned admiration,  "  do  you  know  what  you  are  doing  ? 
It  is  the  gift  of  a  monarch  !  I  cannot,  of  course,  judge 
of  the  proportion  that  this  sum  bears  to  your  wealth,  but 
it  is  my  duty  to  warn  you  that  it  is  far  beyond  what 
these  people  can  possibly  expect!" 

"  Heavens,  what  a  talk  about  a  trifle !"  cried  the 
countess  impatiently.  "  I  need  only  a  little  prudence  for 
a  couple  of  years,  and  the  expenditure  will  be  entirely 
covered.  Even  if  I  should  have  to  deny  myself  now 
and  then,  what  is  it  in  comparison  with  the  injury  that 
my  heedlessriess  has  inflicted  upon  the  poor  child  ?  I 
would  give  her  more  if  I  had  not  so  many  poor  relatives 
whom  I  must  not  defraud." 

"Such  wealth  iu  such  hands,  Countess  Worronska.  is 
a  blessing  to  the  poor.  I  see,  for  the  first  time,  that  this 
hand  can  do  more  than  hold  the  reins  and  wield  the  whip, 
that  it  can  open  wide,  and  scatter  with  princely  liberality 
what  others  would  amass  and  hoard.  Let  me  imprint 
upon  it  a  kiss  of  fervent  gratitude, — I  have  done  you 
injustice." 

"  Oh,  Mollner,"  cried  the  beautiful  woman,  flushed  with 
delight,  "  I  would  give  all  that  I  possess,  and  all  that  I 
am,  for  one  such  grateful  glance  from  your  eyes  !  I  know 
what  the  injustice  is  of  which  you  speak.  You  have 
hitherto  despised  me,  and  now  you  see  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  me  worthy  of  admiration.  Yes,  I  have  lived 
wildly, — I  have  not  heeded  the  restraints  imposed  upon 
woman  by  man,  because  I  did  not  respect  mankind. 
Now,  now  I  acknowledge  them,  because  at  last  I  have 


370  ONLY  A    GTRL; 

found  a  human  being  whom  I  respect  from  the  depths  of 
my  soul,  and  to  whom  I  would  gratefully  commit  the 
guidance  of  my  life.  I  can  give  what  is  better  than  a  few 
thousand  roubles.  I  am  capable  of  the  sacrifice  of  myself! 
If  I  thought  it  would  win  me  your  esteem,  I  would  throw 
away  whip  and  rein.  My  hand  should  know  only  the 
needle.  I  would  never  mount  horse  again, — never  rush 
from  place  to  place,  sipping  the  froth  of  this  world's  de- 
lights. I  would  never  stir  from  this  spot,  but  lie  here, 
clasping  your  knees,  a  penitential  Magdalene.  My  wealth 
I  would  cast  at  your  feet,  and  lay  aside  all  splendour 
that  might  charm  other  eyes  than  yours.  All  that  I 
have  to  give,  so  ardently  desired  by  others,  should  be 
yours.  I  should  think  it  an  act  of  mercy  if  you  deigned 
to  accept  my  gift.  I  know  how  I  transgress  all  law  and 
custom  when  I,  a  woman,  thus  offer  myself  to  him  whom 
I  love, — but  what  would  be  a  departure  from  womanly 
delicacy  and  reserve  in  others,  is  for  me  a  return  thither. 
It  is  not  for  me  to  wait  proudly  for  such  a  man  as  you 
to  bring  me  his  heart.  I  am  sunk  so  low  that  in  remorse- 
ful humiliation  I  must  sue  for  esteem  and  love,  try  to 
deserve  them  by  the  penitence  of  a  lifetime,  and  not 
murmur  if  they  are  withheld  from  me.  I  feel  the  dis- 
grace of  this ;  but,  oh,  if  I  can  only  through  this  disgrace 
recover  my  lost  honour, — if  I  can  only,  by  thus  trans- 
gressing law,  cease  to  be  lawless  !  Believe  me,  it  is  no 
fleeting  emotion  that  speaks  through  my  lips, — it  is  the 
despairing  effort  of  a  stray  soul  to  grasp  the  redeeming 
power  of  a  true  love  !" 

She  could  scarcely  conclude ;  overcome  by  passion,  she 
fell  upon  her  knees,  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him  as  if 
drowning,  and  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobs. 

Johannes  sought  in  vain  to  raise  her.  He  was  stunned, 
as  it  were,  by  this  volcanic  outburst.  Suddenly,  into  the 
gaping  wounds  made  by  Ernestine's  coldness,  poured 
the  hot  lava-stream  of  a  passion  of  which,  in  the  tem- 
perate zone  of  his  German  intellectual  existence,  he  had 
never  dreamed.  He  stood  as  if  before  some  startling 
natural  phenomenon,  amazed,  overwhelmed,  unable  to 
collect  himself.  One  thought  filled  his  mind.  Where 
he  longed  for  love  he  could  not  find  it,  and  where  he 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  371 

neither  desired  nor  hoped  for  it  he  found  it  in  fullest 
measure.  The  contrast  was  too  vivid  ;  as  if  dazzled,  he 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  a  profound  sigh 
escaped  him. 

She  drew  his  hand  away  from  his  face,  and  asked, 
"  Mollner,  is  that  sigh  for  me  ?" 

"For  both  of  us." 

"Mollner!"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  deep  and  rich, 
and  her  soft,  gentle  touch  sought  his  hand,  while  her  dark, 
glowing  eyes  were  ffxed  upon  him  in  an  agony  of  sus- 
pense. Thus  the  beautiful  majestic  \voman  knelt  there, 
expiating  in  the  torment  of  that  moment  her  sin  in 
not  keeping  herself  pure  for  this  long-delayed  love,  look- 
ing up  to  him  as  to  a  redeemer,  ready  to  sacrifice  for  his 
sake  herself  and  a  life  of  worldly  enjoyment, — for  him, 
the  simple  student,  unadorned  by  any  of  the  studied 
graces  that  distinguished  the  men  that  had  hitherto 
crowded  around  her,  and  unconscious  of  having  ever 
sought  her-  love.  Could  this  woman,  used  only  to 
ask  and  to  have,  love  him  thus,  and  she,  the  only  one 
who  could  ever  be  to  him  what  his  whole  soul  thirsted 
for, — she  for  whom  he  would  only  too  willingly  have 
sacrificed  his  life,  resign  him  for  an  illusion,  a  chimera, 
that  could  never  give  her  one  moment's  joy?  He  grew 
giddy, — he  drew  his  hands  from  the  countess's  grasp, 
and  sprang  up.  She  bowed  her  head  upon  the  lounge 
that  he  had  just  left,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  arms, 
as  if  awaiting  the  death-stroke  from  the  sword  of  the 
executioner.  Now,  when  she  knelt  thus  in  the  abandon- 
ment of  her  grief,  for  the  first  time  he  perceived  her  won- 
derful loveliness, — but  only  for  one  moment, — the  next,  he 
turned  from  her  and  threw  open  a  shutter,  admitting  the 
broad  day  to  chase  away  the  bewildering  twilight  that 
filled  the  room.  A  cool  breeze  had  arisen, — he  inhaled 
it  thirstily,  and,  when  he  turned  again  to  the  countess, 
he  was  calm.  Reflection,  so  native  to  him,  had  con- 
quered his  agitation,  and  by  his  sufferings  for  Ernes- 
tine's sake  he  knew  how  to  pity  this  woman  who  loved 
so  hopelessly.  It  was  the  purest  compassion  that  beamed 
in  his  eyes  as  he  raised  her  head,  but  again  his  glance 
had  upon  her  the  effect  of  magic. 


372  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Oh,  not  that  look,  Mollner !  Do  not  look  thus  while 
you  sentence  me  !  it  makes  my  doom  doubly  hard  to  bear. 
If  you  cannot  tell  me  that  you  love  me,  turn  those  eyes 
away, — their  glance  would  wake  the  dead !" 

"Good  heavens!  Countess  Worronska,  how  can  I  find 
the  right  words  in  which  to  tell  you  what  I  must,  if  you  so 
increase  the  labour  of  the  task  ?  I  pray  you,  dear  friend, 
listen  to  me  calmly,  and  think  what  you  impose  upon 
me, — either  I  must  play  the  hypocrite,  or  give  the  worst 
offence  that  can  befall  a  woman." 

The  countess  sprang  up,  and  measured  him  with  a  look 
in  which  pain  and  anger  strove  for  the  mastery.  He  took 
her  hands  and  gently  forced  her  to  sit  down  upon  the 
sofa, — she  yielded  to  him  mechanically. 

"  Dear  Countess  Worronska,  for  both  our  sakes  let  me 
preserve  the  temperate  self-possession  not  easy  to  so  ar- 
dent and  impulsive  a  temperament  as  yours,  but  all  the 
more  incumbent  upon  the  man  to  whose  hands  you  so 
confidingly  entrust  your  future  destiny.  It  would  be  of 
little  avail  to  tell  you  that  you  promise  more  than  you 
can  ever  perform.  You  would  not  believe  me,  for  the 
woman  who  loves  thinks  no  sacrifice  too  great.  But 
even  true  affection  is  subject  to  natural  change.  For  a, 
time  much  may  be  resigned  without  a  murmur,  for  unac- 
customed joy  will  compensate  for  unaccustomed  priva- 
tions, but,  dear  countess,  one  grows  used  even  to  thc> 
joy  of  love,  and,  though  it  may  not  grow  cold,  it  grad- 
ually ceases  to  be  an  exceptional  bliss,  and  becomes  a 
natural  condition,  in  which  the  requirements  of  our 
nature,  the  habits  of  our  birth  and  education,  reassert 
themselves.  And  if  we  are  unable  to  meet  these,  in  spite 
of  our  affection  we  become  conscious  of  a  want  that 
may  in  the  end  deprive  us  even  of  the  knowledge  of 
our  happiness.  This  fate  is  unavoidable  in  a  marriage 
where  upon  either  side  a  disproportionate  sacrifice  is 
made.  Formed  as  you  are,  you  could  never  content 
yourself  with  the  trivial  domestic  affairs  of  a  German 
scholar;  you  would  soon  pine  in  such  captivity,  and, 
without  losing  your  love  for  me,  in  the  sincerity  of  which 
I  believe,  you  would  long  for  your  previous  mode  of 
living.  Those  who  have  never  all  their  lives  long  recog- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  373 

nized  the  restraints  of  homely  duty  can  scarcely  reconcile 
themselves  to  them,  however  honest  their  intentions  may 
be.  As  soon  as  you  felt  that  your  duties  to  me  imposed 
a  restraint  upon  you, — and  you  would  feel  this  sooner  or 
later, — you  would  be  wretched  !" 

"  It  is  enough,  Professor  Mollner,"  cried  the  countess. 
"  Give  yourself  no  further  trouble  in  persuading1  me  to 
doubt  myself.  If  you  loved  me,  you  could  not  consider  so 
prudently  my  advantage  in  the  matter.  If  you  felt  for 
me  as  I  do  for  you,  you  would  not  ask  how  long  we  might 
be  happy, — you  would  enjoy  the  moment  and  be  willing 
for  it  to  resign  an  eternity.  Oh,  proud  and  great  as  you 
are,  you  bear  the  brand  of  a  petty  existence  upon  your 
brow,  although  you  know  it  not.  In  truth,  Mollner,  your 
cool  repulse  does  not  shame  me,  for  I  feel  that  in  the  past 
hour  I  have  been  the  nobler  of  the  two  !" 

"You  are  right,  my  friend.  A  woman  as  beauUful, 
as  high  in  rank,  and  as  richly  endowed  as  yourself  has 
no  cause  to  blush  for  having  vainly  offered  to  one 
what  thousands  covet  so  greedily.  Believe  me,  if  ontj  of 
us  is  shamed,  it  is  I,  to  whom  favour  has  been  shown  so 
undeserved,  so  unhoped-for,  —  such  favour  as  only  the 
bountiful  gods  bestow, — a  favour  which  I  can  never  de- 
.  serve  or  repay  1"  Deeply  moved,  he  took  her  hand ;  again 
her  eyes  sought  his. 

"  Oh,  Mollner,  your  heart  relents, — I  see  it  does.  You 
do  not  know  what  love  is.  Who  was  there  here  to  teach 
you?  The  poor  vapid  sentiment  that  they  call  by  its  name, 
suffices,  it  is  true,  for  domestic  use, — little  is  given,  little 
required, — how  were  you  to  differ  from  the  rest  ?  A  gen- 
uine passion  would  have  caused  infinite  commotion  in 
your  commonplace,  e very-day  circles.  Only  intense  feel- 
ing can  beget  intense  feeling,  and  whoever  has  known 
none  such  has  never  lived.  Such  a  man  as  you  must 
not  close  his  ears  like  a  coward  when  passion  calls.  Do 
not  withdraw  your  hand.  This  moment  must  decide 
whether  I  remain  here  or  return  to  Russia.  My  estates 
are  going  to  ruin.  I  must  either  sell  them  or  return  to 
them  myself.  Give  me  the  smallest  hope  of  winning 
your  affection,  and  I  will  sell  all  my  Russian  possessions 
and  live  here  beneath  your  dear  eves,  in  conventual  re- 

32 


374  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

tirement  and  repose,  year  after  year,  until  at  last  you 
take  me  to  your  heart  and  say,  '  1  believe  in  you !'  Then 
— then  I  will  surround  you  with  such  a  heaven  as  these 
cold,  timid  natures  about  you  do  not  dream  of.  One  word, 
Mollncr, — no  promise,  only  a  hope, — and  I  am  your 
creature  !" 

Johannes  regarded  the  passionate  woman  in  her  de- 
monic beauty  with  a  strange  mixture  of  admiration  and 
horror,  sympathy  and  aversion.  At  last  he  adopted  a 
resolution,  for  he  felt  that  an  end  must  be  put  to  this  in- 
terview. "Madame,"  he  said, — not  without  effort,  for  it 
was  hard  for  his  magnanimous  nature  to  give  offence  to  a 
woman, — "madame,  I  see  that  I  must  tell  you  all  the  truth. 
Hope  nothing.  It  would  certainly  inflict  a  deeper  wound 
were  I  to  tell  you  I  cannot  love  you, — it  would  be  cast- 
ing doubt  upon  your  personal  charms.  What  man  of  flesh 
and  blood  could  swear  that  he  could  not  love  you — a 
woman  all  perfection  from  head  to  foot  ?  Such  an  oath  I 
could  not  presume  to  take,  for  my  senses  are  as  keen  as 
other  men's.  But,  countess,  I  will  not  love  you,  and  I  can 
swear  to  what  I  will,  and  what  I  will  not  do  !" 

He  arose,  and  the  countess  arose  also,  and  stood  op- 
posite to  him,  a  picture  of  despair.  "  And  must  I  content 
myself  with  this  declaration  ?  Am  I  not  worth  the 
being  told  why?" 

"  Let  it  suffice  you  to  know  that  I  consider  myself 
bound." 

"Aha!  to  the  Hartwich  !" 

Johannes  stretched  out  his  hand  with  a  deprecatory 
gesture.  "  Do  not  utter  her  name,  madame.  I  will  not 
hear  it  from  your  lips." 

"  It  is  true,  then  !  That  proud,  frigid  wraith— that 
phantom,  in  whose  veins  there  flows  not  one  drop  of  warm 
blood — has  robbed  me  of  you  !  Curse  her  !" 

"  Hush  !  curse  her  not,  madame;  it  destroys  my  new- 
born pity  for  you!"  cried  Johannes.  "It  is  not  she  that 
comes  between  you  and  me.  I  could  never,  never  have 
given  you  my  heart  or  hand,  even  had  I  been  entirely 
free.  Do  not  force  me  to  say  to  you  what  no  man  should 
say  to  any  woman." 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  375 

"What  is  it?  Let  me  drain  the  last  drop  in  the  cup. 
I  will  not  leave  you  until  I  know  all." 

"Well,  since  you  will  have  it,  listen,  and  may  it  prove 
your  cure  in  a  twofold  sense.  You  could  bestow  upon 
me,  madame,  all  that  the  world  holds  precious,  but  there 
is  one  thing  that  is  no  longer  yours  to  give, — your  honour! 
And  were  a  goddess  to  descend  from  the  skies  for  my 
sake,  wanting  this  jewel,  she  could  be  nothing  to  me.  I 
should  send  her  back  to  her  glories,  and  choose  rather  to 
abide  here  below,  a  poor  solitary  man." 

A  low  cry  followed  these  words,  and  then  silence  en- 
sued. The  Worronska  stood  like  a  statue,  with  eyes,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  perhaps,  seeking  the  ground. 
Johannes  approached  her  and  said  quietly,  "You  can 
never  forgive  what  I  have  said.  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
do  it;  it  is  best  thus.  You  will  hate  me  for  awhile,  and 
then  forget  me.  I  shall,  all  my  life,  have  a  melancholy 
remembrance  of  you,  for  you  wished  to  be  kind  to  me 
and  I  was  obliged  to  wound  you  in  return.  Pour  out 
your  hatred  upon  me;  I  deserve  it  at  your  hands." 

"  Mollner,"  said  the  beautiful  woman,  drawing  her 
breath  with  effort,  "at  this  moment  I  am  expiating  all 
the  sins  I  have  ever  committed.  Farewell,  and  if  you 
hear  that  I  have  fallen  back  into  my  old  manner  of  life, 
sign  the  cross  above  my  memory,  and  tell  her  whom 
you  love,  'I  might  have  saved  that  soul,  but  I  would 
not.'" 

Johannes  looked  at  her  sadly.  "Madame,  if  the  agony 
of  this  moment  does  not  make  the  thought  of  your  former 
life  hateful  to  you,  my  love  never  could  have  saved  you. 
I  disclaim  the  terrible  responsibility  you  would  thrust 
upon  me.  I  have  done  what  I  could.  I  have  told  you 
the  truth,  and  I  cannot  believe  it  will  be  without  effect." 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  the  despairing  woman  with  bitter 
irony.  Then,  with  one  last  tender  look  at  Johannes, 
which  he,  standing  calmly  before  her,  did  not  return,  she 
turned  to  go,  with  the  bearing  of  a  queen.  He  offered 
to  conduct  her  to  her  carriage,  but  she  refused  his  aid. 
Her  face  was  ashy  pale,  and  not  another  word  passed  her 
compressed  lips. 

He  looked  after  her  as  she  entered  her  carriage  and 


376  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  He  saw  how  her  whole 
frame  was  shaken  with  emotion.  The  carriage  whirled 
away,  the  dust  rose  in  clouds.  Johannes  re-entered  his 
lonely  room.  "Ernestine!"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  she  could 
hear  him,  "Ernestine!" 


CHAPTER  III. 

SILVER-ARMED    KATHCHEN. 

THAT  was  wonderful  news  for  the  village  of  Hochstet- 
ten!  The  oldest  people  there  could  remember  nothing  to 
match  it!  The  Kellers'  terrible  accident  had  turned  out 
the  greatest  good  fortune.  The  Kellers — poor  despised 
day-labourers  that  they  had  always  been — bad  come  to 
be  rich  people,  and  were  to  be  richer  still.  Kathchen 
might  well  do  without  her  arm,  and,  since  that  was  all 
the  harm  that  had  been  done  her,  it  really  was  hardly 
worth  so  much  money.  Many  a  one  had  suffered  greater 
injuries,  and  not  a  mouse  had  stirred  in  their  behalf, — not 
even  when  everything  had  been  pawned  in  the  long  idle- 
ness that  followed.  And  this  lucky  child  got  immense 
wealth  in  exchange  for  her  useless  little  arm!  Where 
was  the  justice  of  that,  pray?  It  would  have  been  some 
comfort  to  think  that  it  was  devil's  money,  and  could 
bring  the  Kellers  no  good,  and  that  it  would  be  better  to 
starve  than  to  use  it.  At  first,  indeed,  the  Kellers 
thought  of  refusing  it,  but  the  Reverend  Father  had  been 
too  much  for  the  devil.  He  had  advised  the  Kellers  to 
erect  a  crucifix  by  the  side  of  the  road  where  the  accident 
had  occurred,  and  to  give  the  church  three  hundred  gulden 
for  masses  for  their  benefactress's  soul.  Thus  the  gift  was 
consecrated,  and  they  could  accept  it  with  a  clear  con- 
science. 

Scarcely  four  weeks  had  passed,  and  the  cross  was  al- 
ready standing  by  the  roadside  just  where  Kathchen  had 
been  run  over.  It  was  finer  than  any  other  in  all  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  37  f 

country  round;  and  the  Kellers,  husband  and  wife,  tossed 
their  heads,  as  they  passed  it,  as  proudly  as  if  they  had 
placed  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  himself  there  in  person. 
The  cross  was  ten  feet  high,  and  stood  upon  a  pedestal 
five  feet  high,  upon  which  were  inscribed  the  words, 
"Erected  to  the  glory  of  God  by  Pankratius  Keller  and 
Columbane  his  wife,  Anno  Domini  18 — .  'Let  little 
children  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such 
is  the  kingdom  of  heaven!'"  And  directly  beneath  was 
a  beautiful  painted  tablet,  whereon  all  might  read,  "  Wan- 
derer, pause,  and  mark  how  wondrously  the  promise  has 
been  kept  to  our  child!"  The  painting  that  was  to  illus- 
trate these  words  represented  Kathchen  with  one  arm ; 
the  other  lay  upon  the  ground,  and  a  broad  stream  of 
blood  was  gushing  from  the  maimed  shoulder.  A  car- 
riage was  driving  furiously  away.  Above  Kathchen's 
head  the  heavens  were  opened,  and  the  infant  Christ  was 
seen  in  the  arms  of  the  Madonna,  handing  down  a  silver 
arm. 

This  most  magnificent  and  ingenious  allegory  of  the 
silver  blessing  that  had  followed  Kathcheu's  misfortune 
had  cost  the  poet  of  the  village,  the  highly-gifted  Kcverend 
Father,  many  an  anxious  thought;  and,  in  consequence 
of  it,  the  little  girl  went  universally  by  the  name  of 
"  Silver-armed  Kathchen,"  although  she  persistently  re- 
fused to  verify  her  nickname  by  making  use  of  an  artificial 
limb.  Her  father  and  mother  were  tljjc  objects  of  great 
ridicule  and  envy,  but  they  did  not  mind  it  at  all,  they 
could  laugh  in  their  turn, — they  had  plenty  of  money, — 
and,  what  was  more,  they  had,  by  means  of  it,  gained 
more  favour  with  the  Lord  than  all  those  who  jeered  at 
them.  The  host  of  the  "  Stag"  and  the  burgomaster 
were  the  richest  people  in  the  village,  but  neither  of  them 
could  boast  that  he  had  given  three  hundred  gulden  to 
the  Church,  and  the  burgomaster  had  put  up  a  very  mean 
cross  over  in  the  meadow,  and,  for  economy's  sake,  hud 
had  only  the  head  and  hands  and  feet  of  Christ  painted 
upon  it,  leaving  all  the  rest  of  the  figure  to  the  imagina- 
tion. 

So  they  could  enjoy  their  wealth  without  any  mis- 
givings. Thev  knew  how  high  in  favour  they  stood  with 

32* 


378  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

the  Lord ;  and,  besides,  Frau  Keller  bad  sprinkled  the 
package  of  notes  that  Mollner  had  given  her  with  holy 
water.  She  had  done  this  entirely  of  her  own  mind.  It 
was  impossible  to  be  too  prudent  in  such  a  case.  So  now 
that  everything  had  been  done  to  keep  off  the  Evil  One,  a 
blessing  would  be  sure  to  follow.  Little  Kathchen,  how- 
ever, thought  and  felt  very  differently.  She  was  very 
unhappy  to  find  that  the  children  stood  aloof,  staring  at 
her  as  at  some  strange  animal  when  she  went  to  sit  in 
the  sunshine  before  the  door,  and  that  the  big  boys 
called  her  Silver-arm,  and  plucked  her  by  the  empty 
sleeve  that  dangled  from  her  shoulder. 

But  it  was  worse  than  all  one  day  when  a  cripple  came 
crawling  past, — there  were  many  cripples  in  the  country 
round  about,  as  there  always  are  where  human  beings 
are  fighting  for  the  mastery  with  the  rude  forces  of  nature. 
This  man  stopped  before  her  and  muttered,  "  Oh,  yes,  you 
are  treated  like  a  princess  !  Such  a  poor  fellow  as  mys*lf 
is  worse  off  than  a  dog,  for  when  a  dog  breaks  its  leg  it  is 
shot,  but  I  must  hobble  about  and  starve  for  the  sake 
of  Christian  charity  I  Such  pious  people  as  you  are  can 
always  make  friends  with  the  Almighty,  and  therefore  a 
grand  coach  is  sent  to  drive  over  you,  while  only  a  huge 
stone  in  the  quarry  crushed  my  hip,  and  there  was  no 
fuss  made  about  it.  The  grand  folks,  whose  house  the 
stone  helped  to  build,  never  troubled  themselves  about 
the  human  blood  that  had  sprinkled  it.  Well,  well, — 
to  every  one  his  own !" 

And  the  man  went  hobbling  off  upon  his  crutches,  and 
Kathchen  covered  her  eyes  with  the  one  poor  hand  that 
was  left,  and  sobbed  bitterly. 

"  Is  that  my  merry  little  Kathchen  that  I  hear  crying  ?" 
suddenly  asked  a  familiar  voice ;  and,  when  the  child 
looked  up,  she  saw  Herr  Leonhardt  approaching,  sup- 
ported by  his  son. 

Young  Herr  Leonhardt  was  tall  and  slender,  with  a 
gentle,  frank  expression  of  countenance, — such  a  face  and 
form  as  one  might  imagine  belonged  to  the  favourite  son 
of  the  patriarch  Jacob.  There  was  a  certain  poetic  grace 
in  the  devotion  with  which  he  guided  the  uncertain  steps 
of  his  blind  father.  His  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  ground, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  379 

that  every  obstruction  might  be  removed  against  which 
his  father's  feet  might  stumble. 

He  swung  his  light  straw  hat  hither  and  thither  in  his 
hand,  and  his  fair  hair  encircled  his  broad  brow  with 
masses  of  curls. 

Kathchen  stopped  crying  as  soon  as  she  saw  him.  His 
graceful  figure  stood  alone  among  the  coarse  peasant 
youths,  and,  truly  as  she  loved  and  honoured  his  father, 
the  son  was  dearer  to  her  childish  heart,  for  he  was 
young,  hardly  twelve  years  older  than  she  herself,  and 
youth  clings  to  youth.  She  arose  and  walked  feebly 
towards  the  pair. 

"  Why,  Kathi,  brave  little  girl,  that  never  cried  when 
they  cut  off  her  arm,  what  has  happened  to  you  ?" 

"They  tease  me,"  sobbed  Kathchen,  "because  I  have 
such  an  easy  time  and  was  run  over  by  a  grand  coach. 
They  envy  me  my  good  luck,  and  no  one  loves  me  any 
more.  But  it  shall  not  be  so, — I  will  not  have  anything 
more  than  the  other  poor  cripples, — I  will  give  them  all 
some  of  my  money.  Seppel  needs  it  far  more  than  I  do, 
and  he  got  nothing  for  the  big  stone  that  fell  upon  him, 
although  he  is  a  grown-up  man.  I  am  only  a  stupid  little 
child,  who  never  earned  anything,  and  yet  I  get  so  much, 
because  I  have  to  sit  still.  But  I  will  not  keep  it,  and 
my  father  and  mother  must  not  keep  it  all  to  themselves, 
— they  are  well  and  strong.  I  will  share  it  with  those 
who  have  suffered  as  I  have." 

"But,  my  dear  little  Kathchen,"  said  Herr  Leonhardt, 
much  moved,  "you  are  too  generous  to  the  people  who 
tease  you  so.  If  you  try  to  share  with  all  the  cripples 
and  maimed  people  in  the  village,  you  will  have  very 
little  left  for  yourself.  If  Heaven  has  decreed  that  you 
are  to  be  rich  while  they  remain  poor,  you  may  resign 
yourself  gratefully  to  its  inscrutable  designs  without  any 
qualms  of  conscience.  You  can  help  the  needy  by  giving 
them  work  upon  your  farm  that  you  are  to  buy  with  the 
money  that  is  coming  to  you.  Until  then,  it  would  be 
much  better  to  give  them  a  little  money  weekly,  than  to 
bestow  upon  such  rough  men  a  large  sum,  that  might 
tempt  them  to  be  idle  and  drink  and  gamble." 

"  Yes,  it  would  be  better;  but  mother  will  not  let  me 


380  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

have  anything.  She  does  not  like  to  have  me  give  away 
a  single  kreutzer." 

"  But  what  does  your  father  say  ?"  asked  Walter,  who 
had  been  regarding  the  ehild  with  silent  admiration. 

"  Oh,  he  works  all  day  long  in  our  new  field,  and  does 
not  care  for  anything.  Mother  keeps  the  money,  and 
when  she  says,  '  So  it  must  be/  he  does  not  say  a 
word. " 

"  But  how  does  that  agree  with  your  parents'  great 
liberality  to  the  Church  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  told  mother  she  had  better  give  some  of  the 
money  to  these  poor  people  than  to  the  Reverend  Father 
and  the  stone-mason  for  the  masses  and  the  cross;  but 
then  she  told  me  I  was  too  silly, — that  she  had  given 
the  money  to  the  Lord, — and  it  was  far  wiser  and  more 
profitable  to  give  it  to  Him  than  only  to  men,  for  He  was 
more  powerful  than  any  of  them,  and  could  give  a  great 
deal  better  reward  for  what  was  done  for  Him." 

Herr  Leonhardt  turned  to  his  son,  and,  with  a  gentle 
smile,  said,  "  Does  not  that  one  sentence  show  the  evil 
of  this  false  piety  ?  These  people  turn  to  the  Highest 
only  for  the  sake  of  the  reward  that  they  expect.  For 
them  the  Lord  is  a  venal  human  being,  whose  protection 
they  can  procure  by  bribery,  and  they  now  think  them- 
selves absolved  from  all  humane  and  Christian  duties. 
Oh,  holy, — no,  not  holy, — unhallowed  simplicity  1" 

"  Dear  father,"  said  Walter,  "  it  is  the  same  old  story 
of  indulgences,  only  in  another  shape.  Tetzel,  to  be  sure, 
is  here  no  longer,  but  there  are  still  Tetzels  in  plenty  to 
be  found,  arid  always  will  be  while  there  are  men  in  the 
world  who  prize  money  beyond  all  else  on  earth  and 
think  it  no  way  beneath  the  dignity  of  the  Almighty  act- 
ually to  drive  a  bargain  with  them.  The  noble  thought 
of  the  antique  sacrifice  is  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  Poly- 
krates  threw  the  ring  into  the  sea  to  appease  the  gods, — 
the  Christian  pays  his  money  to  erect  a  crucifix.  But  the 
Greek  trembled  when  the  gods  rejected  his  offering  and 
the  lush  brought  back  his  ring.  The  conceit  of  our  age 
regards  its  offering  as  an  investment  of  capital,  and  hqpes 
for  large  interest  upon  it." 

The  young  man  passed  his  hand  through  his  blonde 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  381 

curls  with  a  light  laugh.  His  father  bowed  his  gray  head 
thoughtfully,  and  pondered  upon  what  his  son  had  said, 
and  how  far  mankind  still  were  from  a  knowledge  of  the 
truth.  Kathchen  looked  at  both,  surprise  in  her  eyes,  as 
if  they  were  speaking  some  strange  tongue.  All  was 
quiet  around,  for  the  little  girl's  parents  were  away  in 
the  fields.  A  couple  of  doves  were  picking  up  the  crumbs 
from  Kiithchen's  supper,  and  the  ducks  were  diving  and 
whisking  their  tails  in  the  little  brook  near  the  house. 

Quick,  firm  footsteps  were  heard  approaching. 

"  Here  comes  our  friend  Mollner,"  said  the  old  man, 
listening.  "  I  know  his  step  from  all  others." 

"  Yes,  Father  Leonhardt.  it  is  I,"  said  Mollners  clear 
voice.  "  How  are  you  all  ?"  He  drew  near  the  quiet 
little  group.  Before  him  ran  three  or  four  geese,  greatly 
terrified  and  in  great  anxiety, — but  yielding  not  one  jot 
of  their  dignity,  for  they  never  thought  of  turning  aside; 
they  were  left  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  when  Johannes 
reached  his  friends. 

"  Look,  Herr  Professor,"  remarked  young  Leonhardt 
gaily,  "those  stupid  birds  are  priding  themselves  upon 
having  maintained  their  place.  See  with  what  haughty 
disdain  they  are  regarding  you.  They  evidently  think 
that  they  have  compelled  you  to  turn  aside  for  them !  It 
is  always  the  way.  Wisdom  vacates  the  path  shared 
with  stupidity,  and  the  latter  swells  with  the  pride  of  an 
imagined  victory." 

Johannes  smiled.  "What  puts  these  little  moral  sen- 
timents into  your  head,  my  dear  Walter  ?  Are  you  about 
to  compose  a  new.  primer  for  your  school  ?" 

"  It  really  would  not  be  a  bad  idea  among  such  people 
as  these!"  said  Walter,  as  he  shook  hands  with  Mollner. 

Mollner  sat  down  upon  the  bench  before  the  house  and 
took  Kathchen  upon  his  knee.  "  Would  not  you  like, 
Kiithchen,  to  have  Herr  Walter  make  you  a  new 
primer  ?" 

"  It  might  be  a  capital  undertaking,  Walter,"  remarked 
Herr  Leonhardt.  "  We  must  not  despise  small  oppor- 
tunities, since  larger  ones  are  denied  us." 

"  Yes,  father,"  laughed  the  light-hearted  young  fellow, 
"  but,  if  my  primer  is  to  succeed  here,  I  must  have  for  the 
letter  H, 


382  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"'H  stands  for  Hartwich,  good  Christians  must  know, 
She's  a  terrible  witch,  who  will  work  them  all  woe.'" 

Herr  Leonhardtmade  a  sign  to  the  thoughtless  speaker, 
who  looked  in  alarm  at  Mollner,  who  preserved  a  gloomy 
silence. 

"  You  must  not  laugh  at  the  lady  at  the  castle,"  said 
Kathchen,  leaning  her  pale  little  face  against  Johannes' 
throbbing  heart.  "  My  mother  complained  to-day  that  I 
had  grown  as  pale  and  ugly  as  the  Fraulein,  and  she 
prayed  the  Lord  to  break  the  spell  that  the  Fraulein  had 
laid  upon  me.  It  made  me  so  sorry,  for  she  cannot  help 
my  being  so  pale.  She  is  so  good  and  kind, — how  could 
she  bewitch  me  ?" 

Johannes  silently  drew  the  child  closer  to  him. 

"  To  be  sure,  she  is  good  and  kind,  and  would  not  harm 
any  one,"  said  Herr  Leonhardt; — but  his  son  interposed, 
with  youthful  exaggeration,  "  She  is  a  saint, — far  too 
holy  for  these  ignorant  people  to  be  permitted  to  kiss  her 
footprints  as  she  passes  !" 

Johannes  pressed  his  bearded  lips  upon  the  child's 
head,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  Herr  Professor,  where  are  your  thoughts  ?"  asked 
Leonhardt  anxiously,  laying  his  hand  gently  upon  Jo- 
hannes' shoulder. 

"With  the  subject  of  your  conversation,  dear  friend. 
It  gives  me  no  rest.  It  is  now  four  weeks  since  I  have 
seen  her.  I  would  not  seek  her  again  until  I  had  col- 
lected all  the  material  that  was  necessary  to  convict  her 
uncle,  for  I  must  be  prepared  for  the  most  determined 
opposition  on  his  part  to  my  visits.  To-day,  through  rny 
kind  old  friend  Heim,  I  have  discovered  a  clue  to  Gleis- 
sert's  rascalities,  and  when  I  compare  the  intelligence 
that  I  have  received  with  the  fact  of  which  you  informed 
me,  that  all  his  letters  are  addressed  to  Unkenheim,  I 
think  I  have  a  terrible  weapon  against  him  in  my  posses- 
sion. And  yet, — yet  I  do  not  know  whether  I  ought  to 
warn  Ernestine  by  letter  or  to  go  to  her  myself.  Will 
not, — must  not  the  sight  of  me  be  painful  to  her  ?" 

"  As  well  as  I  remember,  you  told  me  that  she  begged 
you  not  to  forsake  her,"  said  Herr  Leonhardt. 

"  So  she  did,  old  friend.     But  how  do  I  know  how  she 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  383 

thinks  and  feels  now,  since  she  never  visits  you  without 
such  anxious  inquiries  beforehand  as  to  whether  I  am 
with  you,  and  never,  too,  unless  accompanied  by  Gleis- 
sert  ?" 

"  That  is  all  her  uncle's  doings,"  said  Walter.  "  You 
cannot  think,  Herr  Professor,  how  he  watches  and  guards 
her.  Since  I  have  been  allowed  to  study  in  her  labora- 
tory, I  have  never  for  one  moment  been  alone  with  her, — 
that  devil  is  always  present.  And  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  she  obtained  permission  for  me  to  come  to  the  castle. 
Willmers  says  that  there  was  a  three-days  fight  about  it, 
but  Fraulein  Ernestine  had  made  up  her  mind,  and  he 
was  at  last  obliged  to  give  way.  It  is  high  time  that 
something  were  done  for  the  unfortunate  lady,  for  since 
the  completion  of  her  last  treatise  she  has  been  utterly 
exhausted,  and  if  she  goes  on  thus  much  longer  she  will 
kill  herself." 

"  I  have  known  that  for  a  long  time,"  said  Johannes 
with  a  profound  sigh,  "  but  what  is  to  be  done  ?  I  can 
make  no  impression  either  upon  her  head  or  heart.  My 
solitary  hope  now  lies  in  separating  her  from  that 
villain." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  much  the  best  for  you  to  see  her 
yourself,"  said  Walter.  "  She  is  really  wasting  away 
from  day  to  day." 

"Yes,  I  know  that  it  is  so  by  her  bands,"  added  his 
father;  "  they  grow  so  thin  and  small,  and  are  as  cold 
and  damp  as  if  she  were  dying.  Ah,  Herr  Professor, 
their  touch  pierces  me  to  the  heart !  I  actually  think  I 
can  see  her  suffer,  for  hands  feel  so  only  when  they  are 
often  wrung  in  physical  or  mental  anguish." 

Johannes  put  the  child  from  off  his  knee,  and  turned 
away  his  head,  but  he  could  not  conceal  his  emotion 
from  the  blind  eyes  of  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Why  attempt  to  suppress  a  pain  that  is  so  natural, 
dear  friend  ?  Go  to  her  quickly.  It  will  do  her  good." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  write  her  a  line,"  said  Johannes.  "  I 
will  ask  her  whether  the  sight  of  me  would  pain  or  con- 
sole her.  Good  God  !  I  desire  nothing  but  her  happi- 
ness !  You,  Walter,  will,  I  know,  contrive  to  let  her 
have  my  note  without  her  uncle's  knowledge.  She  will, 
I  hope,  answer  it  in  the  same  way." 


384  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Then  let  us  go  directly  home,"  said  Herr  Leonhardt, 
"that  you  may  write  immediately." 

The  gentlemen  started  to  go. 

Kathchen  plucked  Johannes  by  his  coat.  "  But,  Herr 
Professor,  if  you  go  to  see  the  Fraulein  to-morrow,  you 
will  not  find  her." 

"  How  so,  Kathchen  ?"  asked  Johannes,  who  had  not 
thought  that  the  child  had  been  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  know  it  is  true.  Frau  Willmers  from  the 
castle  went  by  here  to-day,  and  whispered  to  me  to  tell 
the  gentlemen  secretly,  if  they  came  to  see  me  to-day, 
that  the  Fraulein  was  going  away  to-night  forever,  but 
I  must  not  let  any  one  know  that  she  had  told  me,  or  she 
should  lose  her  place.  And  if  the  Herr  Professor  did 
not  come,  I  must  tell  it  to  the  master,  that  he  might  send 
a  messenger  to  town  to  the  Herr  Professor.  Frau  Will- 
mers cried  a  great  deal,  and  said  she  dared  not  go  to  the 
school-house,  because, — because  the  Evil  One,  who  watches 
the  Fraulein  so  closely,  would  know  it." 

"  Kathchen  !"  cried  Johannes,  "you  little  angel,  how 
much  you  have  done  for  me !  The  Fraulein  would  have 
gone  to-night,  and  I  should  never  have  known  whither, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  you !  Is  this  all  that  you  know  ?'" 

"Yes,  this  is  all, — you  may  .trust  me.  I  listened  to 
all  she  said." 

Johannes  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
"  Child,  tell  me  how  I  can  reward  you.  Speak.  What 
would  you  like  ?  Whatever  it  is,  you  shall  have  it." 

"Ah,  dear  Herr  Professor,  if  you  would  only  persuade 
my  father  and  mother  to  let  me  have  some  money  for  the 
poor  people.  Oh,  do,  do  beg  them.  And  then  they  will 
not  laugh  at  me  and  call  rue  Silver-arm  any  more.  I  will 
make  them  happy,  too,  or  else  I  shall  be  just  like  the 
Fraulein,  and  no  one  will  like  me  at  all, — and  I  would  not 
have  it  so  for  all  the  money  in  the  world." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  you  good  little  thing,  and 
I  promise  you  that  when  the  rest  of  your  property  is  sent 
to  me  I  will  invest  it  so  that  your  parents  shall  have  no 
right  to  any  of  it,  but  that  you  may  do  with  it  just  what 
Herr  Leonhardt  advises." 


OR  A   rUYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  385 

"  Ah,  that  will  be  splendid !"  cried  Kathchen,  as  she 
kissed  the  sleeve  of  Johannes'  coat.  "  Herr  Walter!" 
she  called  out,  "  then  you  will  find  out  all  the  poor-people 
for  me,  and  tell  nie  how  much  to  give  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  Kathi  dear,  indeed  we  will  1"  Walter  gladly 
replied. 

Johannes  gave  the  child  some  pieces  of  silver.  "  There, 
my  darling,  give  those  to  the  next  beggar  you  see,  if  you 
want  to  do  so.  Farewell,  all  of  you.  I  will  not  delay  a 
moment,  for  it  is  time  to  proceed  to  extremities."  He 
pressed  Leonhardt's  hand,  and  walked  quickly  away  in 
the  direction  of  the  castle. 

"  What  can  have  passed  up  there  between  the  uncle 
and  niece  ?"  said  Leonhardt,  shaking  his  head. 

"Father  Leonhardt,"  said  Kathchen,  "  don't  you  tell, 
but  I  know  something." 

"  What  is  it,  my  child  ?" 

"  That  guardian  up  there  is  a  very  bad  man." 

"That  is  an  old  story,  Kathi,"  said  Walter. 

"  Yes,  but  you  don't  know  what  he  does  ;  he  empties 
the  letter-box  at  the  school-house  when  it  is  dark." 

"Is  that  true?" 

"  Yes,  father  saw  him  do  it,  but  he  told  me  he  would 
shut  me  up  for  three  days  if  I  told  any  one." 

"  How  did  your  father  happen  to  see  such  a  thing?" 
asked  Herr  Leonhardt,  amazed. 

"  Oh,  he  told  mother  all  about  it,  and  I  ought  not  to 
have  heard  it,  but  I  did  hear.  Last  week,  one  night 
when  he  was  hiding  to  try  and  catch  the  thief  who  steals 
our  grapes,  he  heard  some  one  going  softly  towards  the 
school-house,  and  he  hid  close,  thinking  it  was  the  thief. 
And  then  he  saw  it  was  Herr  Gleissert,  who  busied  him- 
self about  the  place  where  the  letters  are  slipped  into  the 
box.  And  father  crept  nearer,  and  saw  plainly  how  he 
poked  something  long  and  thin  into  the  slit  and  drew  out 
the  letters,  and  then  lighted  a  match  and  held  his  hat  be- 
fore it  that  no  one  might  see  it.  Then  by  the  light  of  the 
match  he  read  all  the  writing  on  the  letters,  and  put  them 
back  again  into  the  box, — all  but  one,  which  he  kept.  And 
then  he  went  home  to  the  castle  again.  Father  said  he 
wanted  to  seize  him  and  hold  him,  but  he  did  not  know 

33 


386  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

what  weapons  he  might  have  about  him,  and  that  there 
was  no  use  of  accusing  him,  for  father  would  be  sure  to 
get  the  worst  of  it." 

"  What  mischief  can  the  scoundrel  be  brewing  ?"  said 
Herr  Leonhardt,  anxiously. 

Walter  laughed.  "  Ah,  father,  we  are  paid  now  for 
always  reading  the  addresses  of  the  letters  he  sent  from 
the  castle." 

"  That  is  an  entirely  different  case,"  said  Leonhardt. 
"  But  our  friend  ought  to  know  this  before  he  reaches  the 
castle.  Run,  Walter,  you  are  young  and  strong ;  try  to 
overtake  him,  and  tell  him." 

"  Yes,  father,  I  can  do  it  easily.  Sit  down  here,  I  will 
soon  return,"  said  the  young  man,  hurrying  away,  fleet- 
footed  as  a  deer. 

Herr  Leonhardt  felt  for  Kathchen.  "My  child,  are  you 
there  ?" 

"  Yes,  Father  Leonhardt." 

"  Kathchen,  you  have  repaid  me  to-day  for  all  the  love 
I  have  ever  given  you."  He  passed  his  hands  over  the 
little,  thin  face.  "  I  cannot  see  you ;  they  tell  me  you 
are  changed, — and  I  think  you  must  be.  But  in  my 
mind's  eye  you  will  always  have  the  same  roguish  black 
eyes  and  chubby  rosy  cheeks,  with  the  little  berry-stained 
mouth, — you  have  never  since  told  what  is  not  true,  eh, 
Kathi  ?" 

"  No,  Father  Leonhardt,  on  my  word  and  honour,  never, 
and  I  never  will  again.  I  am  now  the  richest  child  in 
all  the  country  round,  mother  says,  and  I  will  try  to  be 
the  best,  and  thank  the  kind  God,  as  you  say  I  should, 
by  kindness  to  others.  And,  now  that  I  cannot  fold  my 
hands  any  more  when  I  say  my  prayers,  I  must  pray 
very  hard  indeed, — harder  than  before, — for  then  I  always 
felt  as  if  I  had  the  dear  God  between  my  hands  and 
could  keep  Him  and  make  Him  listen  to  me,  but  now  that 
I  cannot  do  that  I  must  call  Him  oftener,  and  beg  Him  to 
listen  to  my  prayers." 

"  My  dear  little  child,  God  is  always  near  you, — he 
loves  to  dwell  in  a  pure,  childlike  heart.  Kathchen,  you 
are  a  flower  in  the  blind  man's  path.  Do  you  know  what 
that  means?" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  387 

Kathchen  laid  her  head  upon  Leonhardt's  knee.  "  I 
think  it  means  that  you  love  me." 

"  Yes,  my  child,  and  that  there  are  few  joys  in  my  life 
like  what  you  are  to  me." 

"  But,  father,  you  have  Walter,  he  is  more  to  you 
than  I  can  be." 

"  God  bless  him  I  he  is  my  staff  and  prop  in  the  dark- 
ness. He  is  the  best  that  I  have  on  this  earth." 

"  Father  Leonhardt,  when  I  grow  up  I  Will  marry  Wal- 
ter, and  then  we  will  all  live  together." 

"  My  child,  what  put  that  into  your  little  head  ?" 

"  Why,  my  mother  says  that  now  I  am  so  rich  that  I 
can  choose  any  husband  that  I  please, — and  I  will  choose 
Walter  and  no  one  else — no  one." 

"But  suppose  he  will  not  have  you?"  asked  Herr 
Leonhardt  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  but  he  will  have  me, — I  know  he  will,"  said  the 
child  confidently. 

"  Oh,  holy,  holy  simplicity!"  whispered  the  old  man,  and 
laid  his  hand  in  blessing  upon  the  little  girl's  head. 

And  as  he  sat  there,  gazing  into  the  night  that  had 
closed  around  him,  suddenly  to  his  inner  vision  all  grew 
light  about  him.  From  the  vanishing  darkness  arose 
the  columns  of  a  church,  and  through  the  high  arched 
windows  the  sunlight  fell  full  upon  the  heads  of  a  youth- 
ful pair  kneeling  at  the  altar.  Around  stood  a  throng  of 
glad  relatives  and  friends,  amongst  them  a  hoary  blind 
father,  and  by  his  side  an  old  mother,  with  tears  of  joy 
standing  in  her  eyes.  The  young  couple  were  fair  to 
look  upon, — the  bridegroom  blonde,  bearded,  manly,  the 
bride  blushing  in  girlish  timidity.  Her  large,  frank  eyes 
were  swimming  in  tears  of  devotion  and  emotion,  but 
her  charming  little  mouth  was  slightly  stained  as  if  from 
eating  berries. 

"What!  what  !"  said  the  people  around  her,  "picking 
blackberries  upon  her  wedding-day  ?" 

Then  the  organ  began  a  well-known  hymn,  and  all 
present  joined  in  singing  it.  The  bride  gave  her  lover 
her  hand, — only  her  left,  to  be  sure, — but  its  clasp  was  as 
strong  as  if  there  were  two  to  give, — for  it  was  for  a  life- 
time. And  then  the  ceremony  was  ended,  and  they  all 


388  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

went  out  into  the  clear  Spring  sunshine.  A  crowd  of 
familiar  faces  pressed  around, — poor,  deformed,  and 
maimed  figures,  that  still  seemed  not  unhappy,  for  they 
were  all  well  clad  and  fed, — and  they  waved  their  caps 
in  the  air,  with  "  Long  life  to  the  bridal  pair!  Since  you 
have  made  this  place  your  home,  there  will  be  no  starving 
or  freezing  poor  here.  Long  life  to  our  Doctor  Walter 
Leonhardt  and  to  Silver-armed  Kathchen  !" 

Oh,  sunny,  peaceful  picture  !  how  it  cheered  the  blind 
man's  soul !  A  lovely  dream  of  the  future,  born  of  the 
prattle  of  a  child,  hovering  around  an  old  man  upon  the 
verge  of  the  grave ! 

"  Father  Leonhardt,  what  are  you  smiling  at  ?"  asked 
the  child. 

"At  something  beautiful  that  I  have  just  seen." 
"  I  thought  you  could  not  see  any  more  ?" 
"  I  can  see,  my  child,  not  things  that  are,  but  perhaps 
all  the  more  plainly  things  that  are  to  be." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BATTLE. 

ERNESTINE  was  sitting  at  her  writing-table,  arranging 
books  and  papers  to  be  packed  up.  Her  uncle  was  as- 
sisting her  with  trembling  haste.  From  time  to  time  she 
leaned  her  head  wearily  upon  her  hand. 

"It  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  leave  to-day  if  you 
do  not  make  more  haste,"  said  Leuthold  urgently. 

"  I  am  doing  all  that  I  can,  but  I  am  so  weak  that  I 
do  not  know  whether  I  shall  be  able  to  travel  to-night." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  how  you  can  give  way  so.  You 
never  used  to  do  it.  When  I  think  of  the  self-control 
that  you  were  wont  to  exercise, — your  determination 
would  have  done  honour  to  a  man, — and  now  !  Oh,  it  is 
deplorable !" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  89 

"  You  torture  me,  uncle  1"  cried  Ernestine,  as  she  threw 
several  books  into  a  chest  at  her  side.  "  You  will  not 
believe  that  I  am  really  much  weaker  than  I  have  ever 
been  before.  It  is  of  my  own  free  will  that  I  am  going 
away — why  should  I  not  hasten  as  much  as  I  can  ?" 

Her  uncle  looked  askance  at  her  with  a  smile.  "  You 
are  mistaken,  my  child.  It  is  not  your  will  that  is  acting, 
— it  is  only  a  whim  that  thus  urges  you  on.  And  a  whim 
is  the  child  of  circumstances,  and  can  be  controlled  by 
them." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  circumstances  could  control  this 
'  whim,'  as  you  are  pleased  to  call  it.  Nothing  can  happen 
to-day  or  to-morrow  to  change  my  determination.  What 
delay  can  you  apprehend?  No  one  knows  of  my  de- 
parture, so  that  it  cannot  be  impeded  by  remonstrances 
from  any  quarter.  I  have  not  even  told  good  old  Leon- 
hardt  that  I  am  going,  and  Willmers  heard  it  only  this 
morning.  Could  I  do  more  to  prove  to  you  that  I  am  in 
earnest  ?" 

Leuthold  looked  at  her  again  with  his  sarcastic  smile. 
He  knew  well  that  Ernestine  had  preserved  this  strict 
silence  concerning  her  departure  only  because  she  did  not 
feel  strong  enough  to  withstand  any  friendly  remon- 
strances. Therefore  he  trembled  lest  some  unforeseen 
accident  might  yet  divulge  her  plans.  His  very  existence 
depended  upon  her  staying  or  going.  During  the  four 
weeks  that  had  elapsed  since  Ernestine's  return  from 
town,  Leuthold's  entire  influence  had  been  exerted  to  re- 
move Ernestine  from  this  part  of  the  country,  and,  if 
possible,  from  Germany.  She  must  never  again  see  the 
man  who  had  evidently  made  such  an  impression  upon 
her.  Now  less  than  ever  could  she  be  allowed  to  form 
any  attachment,  for,  if  she  were  now  to  marry,  and  re- 
quire her  property  at  his  hands,  he  was  lost !  He  had 
cautiously  managed  to  secure  an  appointment,  through 
an  American  agent,  in  a  large  chemical  manufactory  in 
New  York.  To  Ernestine  he  had  opened  the  brilliant 
prospect  of  delivering  a  course  of  scientific  lectures 
there.  The  fact  that  she  had  received  the  prize  from 
a  German  university  for  one  of  her  papers  would 

33* 


390  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

surely  suffice  to  make  her  reputation  in  America, — 
and  Leuthold  had  honestly  done  his  best  to  have  her 
fame  as  an  intellectual  phenomenon  noised  abroad.  In 
his  present  embarrassed  circumstances,  it  was  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  him  that  she  should  be  placed  in 
a  position  to  support  herself,  that  she  might  not  be  a 
burden  to  him.  If  the  lectures  did  not  succeed,  she 
would  have  to  earn  her  living  as  a  "female  physician." 
But  upon  this  point  he  prudently  forbore  to  enlighten 
her.  He  fired  her  imagination  with  the  enormous  ad- 
vantages, pecuniary  and  other,  that  must  accrue  from  her 
lectures.  The  means  that  he  employed  to  win  her  to  his 
purpose  were  to  an  ambitious  woman  irresistible.  She 
saw  before  her  a  future  such  as  no  woman  had  hitherto 
enjoyed.  She  saw  herself  in  one  of  the  vast  halls  of 
New  York,  lecturing  to  a  crowd  of  men  who  were  all 
listening  attentively  to — a  girl !  She  saw  herself  re- 
garded as  the  miracle  of  her  sex.  The  most  secret 
dreams  of  her  pride  were  to  be  realized, — the  seeds  of 
her  quiet  diligence  were  to  spring  up  and  bud  forth  in 
the  sight  of  all, — the  world  should  ring  with  the  fame 
of  what  a  woman  could  do.  And  yet  it  was  hard  to 
decide  ;  it  was  weeks  before  she  could  bring  herself  to 
sign  the  simple  letters  of  her  name  to  the  acceptance  of 
these  proposals;  no  labour  of  her  life — nothing  whereon 
she  had  expended  days  and  nights  of  study — ever  cost 
her  as  much  as  this  single  signature. 

Mollner's  grave,  earnest  face  had  scared  her  back 
from  clutching  these  new  honours,  as  Banquo's  ghost 
frightened  the  usurper  from  the  royal  chair.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  she  was  guilty  of  a  crime  towards  him, — and 
at  last,  in  a  torment  of  doubt,  she  secretly  wrote  to  him. 
She  told  him  everything,  and  begged  for  his  counsel 
and  advice.  She  did  not  conceal  from  him  that  she 
could  not  take  so  decisive  a  step  without  his  blessing. 
Why  this  letter  never  reached  Mollner,  no  one  knew 
besides  Leuthold,  except  Kathchen  and  her  parents. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  of  course  Ernestine  waited 
in  vain  for  an  answer.  She  waited  as  if  for  a  decree 
of  life  or  death.  Sleep  refused  to  visit  her  burning  eye- 
lids. She  took  barely  sufficient  nourishment  to  support 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  391 

life.  She  pined  with  desire  for  only  one  word — one 
single  word — from  Mollner, — and  it  did  not  come.  She 
was  no  longer  worth  a  stroke  of  his  pen.  Since  her  re- 
fusal of  his  suit,  he  would  none  of  her.  He  had  con- 
quered himself, -r-had  given  her  up, — and  in  how  short  a 
time ! 

And  the  more  she  had  longed  for  a  letter  or  a  visit 
from  him,  the  greater  was  her  bitterness  of  mind, — the 
offence  to  her  pride, — when  she  received  neither.  As 
often  as  she  approached  her  writing-table,  her  eyes  were 
greeted  by  the  large  capitals  of  the  flattering  proposal 
she  had  received,  with  all  its  alluring  promises.  What 
was  there  now  to  wait  for?  Why  should  she  hesitate 
now?  And  so  she  signed  her  acceptance. 

And  now  nothing  should  cause  her  to  waver  in  her 
pride  of  purpose.  She  would  have  the  revenge  of  being 
irrevocably  lost  to  him,  she  would  vanish  without  one 
word  of  farewell,  that  from  a  distant  quarter  of  the  globe 
the  fame  of  her  greatness  might  reach  his  ears. 

She  did  not  even  confide  in  Willmers,  for  she  dreaded 
her  garrulity.  Only  on  the  very  last  day  the  housekeeper 
received  orders  to  dispose  of  Ernestine's  movables  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  then  to  follow  her,  for  Leuthold 
wished,  before  sailing,  to  take  leave  of  Gretchen,  whom 
he  purposed  to  leave  in  Germany  for  the  present.  But 
Ernestine  was  to  accompany  him.  He  would  not, — he 
dared  not  now, — lose  sight  of  her  for  a  moment. 

She  wrote  a  fervent,  heartfelt  farewell  letter  to  Leon- 
hardt,  and  begged  him  to  keep  her  books  and  apparatus 
until  she  should  claim  them  again.  As  she  did  not  know 
yet  where  her  future  home  would  be,  she  could  not  make 
use  of  them  herself.  Walter  might  find  them  useful. 
Thus  delicately  she  bestowed  upon  Walter  the  costly  gift 
of  the  instruments  for  the  further  pursuit  of  his  studies. 

After  their  departure,  her  uncle  was  to  be  informed  of 
her  disposal  of  the  physiological  works  and  apparatus, 
which  he  had  ordered  Willmers  to  sell.  He  would  never 
have  consented  to  it,  for  Ernestine  had  often,  to  her  sur- 
prise, noticed  how  desirous  he  was  of  ready  money. 

She  bound  Willmers  by  a  solemn  promise  not  to  de- 
liver the  letter  to  Herr  Leonhardt  until  the  writer  had 


392  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

departed,  and  thus  everything  was  provided  for, — every- 
thing was  thought  of, — everything  except  Ernestine's 
physical  condition.  The  inflexible  girl  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  take  so  little  care  of  her  health  that  she  had 
given  no  heed  to  her  increasing  exhaustion, — the  natural 
consequence  of  the  superhuman  efforts  of  the  last  few 
weeks.  But  to-day  she  could  hardly  stand,  and  the 
thought  of  undertaking  so  long  a  journey  began  to  alarm 
her. 

She  sat  there  before  her  uncle  the  picture  of  weariness. 
He  regarded  her  dubiously.  Could  he  succeed  in  getting 
her  on  board  of  the  steamer  ?  Then,  if  she  were  taken 
ill,  it  would  of  course  be  ascribed  to  sea-sickness,  which 
scarcely  any  one  escapes.  And  if  she  died?  Then  all 
would  be  well  with  her.  He  would  bury  her  under 
the  billows  of  the  ocean,  and  all  his  hatred,  his  alarm, 
and  his  crimes  would  sink  with  her  beneath  the  waves, 
which,  as  they  swathed  her  dead  body,  would  wash 
away  from  him  all  disgrace  and  guilt.  This  thought  was 
as  boundless  in  comfort  as  the  ocean  that  was  begin- 
ning to  open  upon  his  horizon. 

"Uncle,  do  not  gaze  so  strangely  at  nothing,'1  said 
Ernestine.  "  You  look  as  if  you  were  devising  no  good." 

Leuthold  smiled  "You  are  nervous  indeed,  my  child. 
Since  when  has  nay  face  looked  strange  to  you  ?" 

Ernestine  did  not  reply.  She  went  on  wrapping  a  book 
in  paper,  to  pack  it  in  the  chest. 

"Is  that  old  fairy-book  to  go  too?"  asked  Leuthold 
ironically. 

"Yes,"  was  the  curt,  decided  reply. 

"Well!  well !  Have  you  not  a  doll  somewhere  that  I 
can  pack  with  it  ?" 

Ernestine  started  up.  "Uncle,  I  told  you  once  before 
that  I  will  not  endure  that  tone!" 

"Beg  pardon,  but  such  folly  provokes  a  jest.  Or  per- 
haps the  book  has  a  deeper  value  for  you?  You  need  not 
blush, — I  can  guess.  It  is  a  remembrance  of  the  knight 
of  the  oak, — Mollner !  Ah,  then  indeed  we  must  cer- 
tainly take  it  with  us." 

"Uncle,"  cried  Ernestine,  taking  the  book  from  him  as 
he  was  about  to  put  it  in  with  some  others,  "you  know 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  393 

how  to  depreciate  with  your  sneering  speeches  everything 
that  I  have  held  dear.  Let  the  book  alone;  I  will  give 
it  to  little  Kathchen." 

"And  when  Professor  Mollner  visits  her,  and  finds  it 
there,  it  will  touch  his  heart,  that  the  friend  whom  he 
has  forsaken  has  guarded  his  memory  so  faithfully  until 
now.  If  he  turns  over  its  leaves,  he  will  doubtless  find 
the  oak  leaf  that  you  have  pressed  among  them.  Perhaps 
he  will  think  it  a  mute  farewell,  and  bestow  upon  you  a 
tear  of  compassion.  How  gratifying  it  will  be!" 

"Uncle,  if  I  thought  that,  I  would  rather  burn  the 
book!" 

"And  that  would,  at  all  events,  be  the  best  thing  to  do 
with  it  That  self-conceited  fellow  is  not  worth  the  re- 
membrance that  you  cherish  of  him.  I  would  efface  it, 
as  I  would  every  impression  that  is  unworthy  of  you. 
Indeed,  I  have  long  been  indignant,  although  I  never 
spoke  of  it  to  you,  at  his  so  easily  forgetting  you.  Such 
a  woman  as  you  are  is  not  to  be  resigned  like  an  article 
of  merchandise  about  which  buyer  and  seller  cannot 
agree.  He  never  loved  you,  or  he  would  never  have 
dreamed  of  making  conditions  in  his  proposal  to  you,  as 
if  you  were  to  deem  it  a  great  honour  that  he  should 
condescend  to  you  Trust  me,  I  know  the  world  and 
mankind  thoroughly.  He  was  in  the  greatest  embarrass- 
ment, for  he  felt  himself  morally  obliged  to  offer  you  his 
hand." 

Ernestine  started. 

Leuthold  continued,  "  I  do  not  know  how  you  con- 
ducted yourself  towards  him,  but,  with  your  inexperience 
and  the  preference  that  you  entertain  for  him, — do  not 
deny  it, — it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  you  must  have 
made  advances." 

Ernestine  bit  her  lip,  and  looked  down. 

"  The  one  fact  that  you  accompanied  him  to  bis  house 
alone,  without  any  intimate  acquaintance  with  him, — 
without  an  invitation  from  his  mother, — must  have  led  him 
to  fancy  that  you  were  desperately  in  love  with  him,  and 
he  was  conscientious  enough  to  wish  to  efface  the  stain 
that  you  had  thus  unwittingly  cast  upon  your  honour,  by 
asking  you  to  be  his  wife.  I  do  not  question  for  a  mo- 


394  ONLY  A    GIRL-, 

ment  that  his  intentions  towards  you  from  the  very  be- 
ginning were  honourable  and  kind,  but  his  feelings  seem 
to  me  to  have  been  those  of  simple  friendship,  until  your 
advances  forced  him,  as  it  were,  to  a  declaration.  Prob- 
ably he  is  now  congratulating  himself  in  silence  upon 
his  fortunate  escape.  But  you  sigh  and  languish  like  a 
love-sick  girl  over  his  memory,  and  would  carry  the  only 
gift  that  you  have  ever  received  from  him,  bestowed  upon 
you  out  of  sheer  compassion  when  you  were  a  fright  of  a 
child,  across  the  ocean  with  you  as  a  relic  !  Ernestine, 
what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  For  Heaven's  sake,  con- 
trol yourself!  What  nonsense  !  You  have  actually  con- 
tracted a  habit  of  fainting!" 

He  supported  her  drooping  head  and  fanned  her  pale 
face. 

She  looked  up  at  him  wearily,  then  thrust  him  from  her 
with  evident  aversion,  and  stood  up.  Leuthold  said  no- 
thing more.  For  the  first  time  she  had  allowed  him  to 
speak  of  Mollner,  and  he  had  seized  the  opportunity  to 
pour  into  her  soul  the  surest  poison  that  ever  destroyed 
love, — he  was  content  now  to  let  it  work. 

Ernestine  walked  several  times  to  and  fro:  her  step, 
her  bearing,  was  queenly, — she  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
grown  taller.  Her  uncle  might  be  right, — she  hated 
him  for  it,  but  still  he  might  be  right.  What  must  Jo- 
hannes—  what  must  his  mother  think  of  her  for  so 
throwing  herself  at  him  ?  This  was  why  his  mother  had 
treated  her  so, — this  was  the  cause  of  the  cool  conditions 
proposed  to  her  by  the  son  !  She  repeated  to  herself 
every  one  of  Johannes's  words, — they  were  almost  all 
words  either  of  grave  warning  or  stern  reproof.  Even 
when  he  had  been  kind  to  her,  it  had  been  the  kindness 
of  a  father  or  a  judge.  Never,  not  even  when  suing  for 
her  hand,  had  he  laid  aside  the  proud,  measured  bearing 
that  was  native  to  him.  His  pity  had  been  that  of  a 
superior  being  for  a  soul  astray,  not  of  a  lover  for  his 
beloved.  And  she !  She  recalled  every  cordial  word, 
every  kindly  glance,  that  she  had  bestowed  upon  Jo- 
hannes, and  she  persuaded  herself  that  she  had  been  too 
fond,  that  her  behaviour,  in  contrast  with  her  usual  cold 
demeanour,  had  verged  upon  impropriety,  and  must  have 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  395 

been  construed  by  him  into  an  advance.  Yes,  possibly 
he  despised  her  for  it, — and  she  had  even  gone  so  far 
as  to  write  to  him  !  All  the  little  merit  of  not  consent- 
ing under  the  proposed  conditions  to  become  his  wife  was 
annulled  by  this  last  act,  which  must  have  been  regarded 
by  him  as  a  fresh  advance,  and,  as  such,  silently  re- 
pulsed. She  could  have  fled  from  him  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth, — the  mere  thought  of  him  was  enough  to  drive 
the  hot  blood  to  her  cheeks.  Away,  away,  across  the 
ocean  ! — this  suddenly  became  the  one  desire  of  her  heart. 
She  stood  still  as  she  passed  the  fireplace,  and  said  to 
Leuthold,  "  Burn  the  book!"  They  were  the  first  words 
that  passed  her  lips. 

The  instant  the  words  were  spoken,  Leuthold  threw  the 
volume  into  the  midst  of  the  flames.  Ernestine  stood  by 
and  watched  them  curling  around  the  covers,  which  bent 
and  rolled  up  in  the  heat.  They  were  soon  destroyed, 
and  with  invisible,  soft-crackling  fingers  the  fiery  draught 
toyed  with  the  burning  book,  and,  as  page  after  page 
opened  to  the  glow,  the  flame — greedy  reader — devoured 
them.  Ernestine  watched  it  all.  She  saw  the  names 
which  had  been  so  dear  to  her,  flash  out  and  vanish. 
The  cold,  glittering  snow  queen, — the  little  mermaid  in 
her  watery  home, — all  perished  in  the  red  heat ! 

Now  the  oak  leaf,  that  she  had  once  snatched  from  the 
dear  old  tree,  fell  away  to  ashes, — the  whole  book  dropped 
apart  and  blazed  up  afresh, — the  loosened  leaves  were 
tossed  up  and  down  in  the  wreathing  flames.  There, — 
there  was  one  more  name, — the  swan.  The  leaf  flew  aloft, 
and  the  swan,  the  beautiful  swan,  was  burned  to  ashes. 
Never  again  would  it  spread  its  plumage  for  her, — 
never  arise,  a  second  phoanix,  from  its  funeral  pyre.  The 
little  fairy  world  had  vanished,  and  only  a  few  sparks 
remained,  shooting  hither  and  thither,  as  if  in  search  of 
the  transformed  shapes  of  the  creatures  of  fairy  lore. 

Ernestine  turned  away.  The  fire  seemed  to  have  scorched 
the  pinions  of  her  soul.  She  hung  her  head,  like  the  god 
with  the  inverted  torch,  and  wept! 

Leuthold  did  not  disturb  her;  he  felt  that  he  must 
spare  her  now. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  Frau   Willmers  said 


396  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

in  a  tone  of  great  trepidation,  "  Herr  Professor  Moll- 
ner !" 

Leuthold  started  as  if  struck  by  an  arrow.  Ernestine 
leaned  against  the  chimney-piece,  or  she  would  have  fallen. 

"  How  dare  you  admit  any  one  just  at  this  moment  ? — 
how  dare  you  ?"  he  said,  transported  with  rage  and  terror. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  Herr  Doctor.  I  could  not  do  other- 
wise,— the  gentleman  declared  positively  that  he  would 
not  stir  from  the  spot  until  I  had  announced  him." 

"  Tell  the  gentleman  that  we  cannot  receive  visitors." 

Frau  Willmers  looked  hesitatingly  at  Ernestine,  who 
stood  as  pale  and  immovable  as  ever. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  waiting  for  ?"  asked  Leuthold, 
and  there  was  a  threat  conveyed  in  his  tone  and  manner. 

"  I  am  going, — I  will  go  instantly,"  replied  the  woman, 
and  hurried  from  the  room. 

Ernestine  took  one  step  forward,  as  if  she  would  have 
followed  her.  But  she  controlled  herself.  She  was  a 
prey  to  a  storm  of  emotions  that  almost  deprived  her  of 
consciousness.  He  had  come,  then, — he  had  not  utterly 
given  her  up.  It  almost  broke  her  benumbed  heart  to 
send  him  away.  But  no, — she  rebuked  her  own  weak- 
ness,— he  had  waited  long  before  coming,  and  perhaps  had 
come  at  last  only  because  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  obey  her 
summons.  She  would— she  could  yield  to  no  further 
weakness. 

Leuthold  stood  by  the  door,  and  held  his  breath  while 
he  listened  to  hear  Johannes  depart ;  but,  to  his  immense 
discomfiture,  Frau  Willmers  reappeared. 

"  The  gentleman  will  not  go,"  she  said  with  secret 
exultation.  "He  says  he  came  to  see  the  Fraulein,  and 
will  take  no  dismissal  from  her  uncle,  for,  as  the  Fraulein 
has  been  of  age  for  several  years,  it  is  for  her  to  say 
whom  she  does  or  does  not  wish  to  see." 

Ernestine  listened  eagerly.  "  What — what  does  that 
mean  ?"  She  turned  with  a  look  of  inquiry  to  her  uncle, 
and  was  shocked  at  the  great  and  evident  alarm  expressed 
in  his  countenance.  "Uncle,"  she  asked  again,  "what 
does  this  mean  ?  Answer  me  !" 

"  Do  not  heed  such  stupid  gossip.  The  fellow  is  a 
liar — or " 


OR   A    PHYSICIAN'  FOR    THE  SOUL.  397 

"  Tell  him  so  yourself,  if  you  have  the  courage,"  Er- 
nestine interrupted  him  in  rising  wrath.  "  Ask  the  gen- 
tleman to  walk  in,"  she  said  authoritatively. 

Willmers  hurried  out. 

"  Ernestine !"  cried  Leuthold  in  despair, — "  this  to  me  ?" 

"  I  will  understand  what  this  means  about  my  being 
of  age,"  cried  the  girl,  with  a  glance  at  Leuthold  before 
which  his  eyes  sought  the  ground. 

Mollner  entered.  He  regarded  Leuthold  with  entire 
composure  and  profound  contempt,  then  bowed  to  Ernes- 
tine without  looking  at  her.  He  wished  to  spare  her,  to 
give  her  time  to  collect  herself.  She  misunderstood  him. 
She  thought  he  was  cold,  and  met  him  with  coldness. 

A  long  pause  ensued. 

Leuthold,  wishing  to  appear  quite  at  his  ease,  broke 
the  silence.  "Allow  me  to  ask,  sir,  what,  after  all  that 
has  passed  between  my  niece  and  yourself,  procures  us 
the  honour  of  a  visit  from  you." 

"I  am  about  to  inform  Fraulein  von  Hartwich  upon 
that  head,  and  you  will  greatly  oblige  me  by  remaining 
present  at  this  interview." 

"  Be  pleased,  then,  to  be  seated,"  said  Leuthold,  mo- 
tioning Johannes  to  a  chair,  "  and  let  me  request  you  to 
be  brief,  since  we  are  just  on  the  eve  of  departure." 

"You  will  not  go,  Doctor  Gleissert." 

"  Sir  !  Are  you  better  instructed  than  ourselves  con- 
cerning our  plans  ?" 

Johannes  waited  until  Ernestine  was  seated,  and  then, 
taking  a  chair,  replied  with  decision,  "  Not  concerning 
your  plans,  but  their  fulfilment, — which  I  shall,  in  case 
of  necessity,  prevent  by  your  arrest." 

Leuthold  was  stunned  for  one  moment,  but,  recovering 
himself,  smiled  at  Ernestine,  who  looked  astounded;  and 
said,  "Ah,  here  we  have  the  genuine  knight  of  the  oak  1 
It  is  a  pity  that  we  do  not  live  in  feudal  times,  when  an 
honest  man  could  be  seized  upon  the  highway  and  flung 
into  a  dungeon." 

"Oh,  no,  Doctor  Gleissert.  A  quiet  scholar  like  my- 
self has  no  taste  for  such  adventures.  I  prefer  safer  and 
legal  means.  I  shall  simply,  in  case  you  attempt  to 
depart  from  this  place,  have  you  detained  by  the  gens- 

34 


398  ONLY  A    GIRL-, 

d'armes  stationed  here,  until  your  business  relations  with 
Friiulein  von  Hartwich  are  satisfactorily  explained.  Then 
you  will  be  perfectly  free  to  go  whithersoever  you  may 
please.  My  interest  in  you  will  be  at  an  end." 

"  Herr  Professor,"  cried  Leuthold,  "  I  can  only  sup- 
pose that  some  one  has  shamefully  calumniated  me  to 
you.  Let  me  beg  you  to  come  with  me  to  my  study, 
that  we  may  not  distress  my  niece  by  these  representa- 
tions. She  needs  the  utmost  consideration  at  present." 

"  If  Fraulein  von  Hartwich  is  strong  enough  to  under- 
take the  voyage  to  New  York,  of  which  Frau  Willmers 
tells  me,  she  can  certainly  support  this  conversation. 
But,  first  of  all,  let  me  ask  you,  Ernestine,  whether  you 
are  leaving  your  home  of  your  own  free  will." 
"  Yes,"  she  breathed  scarcely  audibly. 
"  Of  course  you  are  your  own  mistress.  But,  before 
you  carry  out  your  intentions,  you  must  know  what  you 
are  doing.  This  you  do  not  know  at  present,  and  I  am 
here  to  inform  you.  If  you  depart  with  Herr  Gleissert, 
you  link  your  destiny  to  a  villain's!" 

Ernestine  and  Leuthold  started  up.  Johannes  arose 
at  the  same  time,  and,  leaning  one  hand  upon  the  table, 
regarded  them  steadily  without  a  word. 

Leuthold  found  it  impossible  to  speak.  Ernestine  was 
lost  in  gazing  at  the  noble  form  of  his  adversary. 

Johannes  continued,  "  You  will  require  the  proofs  of 
such  an  accusation.  I  have  had  them  in  my  possession 
only  since  early  this  morning, — here  they  are."  He  took 
several  papers  from  his  breast-pocket,  and  unfolded  one 
of  them.  Leuthold  glanced  at  it,  staggered  back,  and 
sank  upon  a  seat. 

"  Did  you  write  that  ?"  asked  Johannes,  handing  the 
sheet  to  Ernestine.  "  Pray  read  it." 

"  No  !"  she  said  in  evident  surprise,  as  she  ran  over  its 
contents. 

"  Or  did  you  affix  your  name  to  a  deed,  ignorant  of  its 
contents,  in  presence  of  a  notary  ?" 
"  Never !''  was  the  decided  reply. 
Mollner  breathed  freely.     "  This,  then,  is  the  proof 
that  could  send  your  uncle  to  jail,  if  I  made  use  of  it,  for 
it  is  a  forgery  !" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  399 

Ernestine  made  a  gesture  of  dissent,  as  if  she  could  and 
would  hear  no  more.  But  Johannes  was  not  to  be  de- 
terred. "  From  your  first  letter  to  Heim,  and  from  your 
conversation  with  my  mother,  it  is  evident,  Ernestine, 
that  you  consider  yourself  still  a  minor.  It  is  true  that 
you  are  so  by  the  laws  of  your  country,  which  make  the 
period  of  minority  terminate  at  the  age  of  twenty-four, — 
and  you  are  only  twenty-two  years  old.  But  through 
Dr.  Heim,  who  was  present  at  the  drawing  up  of  your 
father's  will,  I  know  that  you  are  by  it  declared  legally 
of  age  at  eighteen.  This  your  uncle  has  concealed  from 
you.  We  will  speak  by-and-by  of  his  reasons  for  this 
concealment." 

"  Then  I  have  been  my  own  mistress  now  for  four 
years  ?•'  cried  Ernestine  in  inconceivable  amazement, — 
"  and  you,  uncle,  have  treated  me  as  if  I  were  a 
child?" 

"  More  than  that, — he  ha"s  withheld  your  property  from 
you.  Here  is  a  copy  of  your  father's  will.  You  will  see 
that  it  accords  you  the  right,  at  eighteen  years  of  age, 
to  take  possession  of  the  estate,  put  in  trust  for  you  in 
the  guardians'  court,  and  dispose  of  it  as  you  please.  Of 
course  you  could  not  avail  yourself  of  this  right,  as  you 
were  kept  in  utter  ignorance  of  it,  as  well  as  of  the  fact 
that  you  had  attained  your  majority.  But  your  uncle 
has  availed  himself  of  it  in  }*our  stead.  He  has  contrived 
— Heaven  only  knows  how — to  imitate  your  handwriting 
and  forge  the  signature  to  the  document  by  which  the 
guardians'  court  delivered  over  to  you — that  is,  to  your 
uncle — the  property  in  its  charge  for  you.  There  was 
no  doubt  cast  upon  the  authenticity  of  the  document,  for 
it  was  drawn  up  in  due  form  by  an  Italian  notary  and 
accredited  by  two  witnesses  to  your  personal  identity. 
When  I  suspected  that  your  uncle  had  purposely  kept 
you  in  ignorance  of  your  affairs,  I  acquainted  the  court 
with  my  suspicions,  and  they  delivered  to  me  this  copy 
of  the  document  which  I  have  just  handed  you  for 
identification.  You  have  declared  it  a  forgery.  Whether 
I  now  spare  or  destroy  this  man  will  depend  upon  the 
result  of  "what  we  have  to  say  to  each  other.  That  I 
allow  him  one  word  of  explanation  is  due  to  my  regard,  not 


400  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

for  him,  but  for  your  sense  of  delicacy,  Ernestine,  which 
would  suffer  deeply  in  your  uncle's  disgrace." 

Having  thus  spoken,  while  Ernestine  had  listened  in 
mute  amazement,  Johannes  turned  to  Leuthold.  "  I  ask 
you,  Doctor  Gleissert,  what  you  have  done  with  the 
money  that  you  have  hitherto  withheld  from  your  niece." 

"Before  I  answer  you,  sir,"  replied  Leuthold,  who  had 
regained  his  composure,  "allow  me  to  ask  you  when  you 
exchanged  the  pursuit  of  physiology,  wherein  you  have 
rendered  such  important  service  to  science,  for  the  .-tudy 
of  the  law,  in  which,  I  fear,  you  will  hardly  prove  so 
great  a  proficient." 

"I  did  so,"  said  Johannes  calmly,  "when  I  felt  it  my 
duty  to  protect  with  the  shield  of  law  a  young  creature 
most  grossly  defrauded.  And  I  think,  sir,  that  I  am 
already  sufficiently  versed  in  my  newly-espoused  science 
thoroughly  to  expose  your  frauds.  But  let  me  ask  you 
again  to  account,  without  further  circumlocution,  for  the 
property  we  have  spoken  of." 

"And  I  demand  of  you,  Herr  Professor,  what  legal 
right  you  possess  to  subject  me  to  such  an  inquiry." 

Johannes  looked  at  him  composedly.  "  So  be  it.  If  you 
prefer  to  answer  my  question  to  a  court  of  justice,  I 
will  withdraw  my  request  for  an  explanation  between 
ourselves.  Take  time  to  consider  which  you  prefer  in 
this  matter." 

"I  should,  at  all  events,  have  less  to  fear  from  a  legal 
investigation  than  from  a  madman,  who,  in  defiance  of 
custom  and  decorum,  and  regardless  of  domestic  privacy, 
invades  a  home,  and,  with  a  knife  at  the  throats  of  its 
inmates,  demands  'your  money  or  your  life,'  like  any 
highway  robber." 

"Uncle,"  interposed  Ernestine,  "I  forbid  you,  in  my 
presence,  to  insult  my  friend.  If  you  can  clear  yourself 
of  the  terrible  suspicion  that  he  has  cast  upon  you,  do  so 
with  dignity.  Useless  insults  cannot  convince  us." 

"And  you,  Ernestine, — do  you  take  part  against  me?" 
cried  Leuthold  pathetically. 

"I  take  part  with  no  one;  on  the  contrary,  I  tremble 
to  think  that  the  man  who  has  brought  me  up  may  be  a 
criminal.  But  I  will  not  and  cannot  shield  you  from  the 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  401 

discovery  of  the  truth.  You  yourself  have  taught  me  to 
subject  every  duty,  every  impulse  of  the  heart,  to  cool 
investigation, — to  search  everything  to  the  foundation, — 
even  at  the  price  of  the  most  sacred  illusions.  Now, 
cruel  preceptor,  reap  what  you  have  sown  1" 

"Well,  then,  I  am  ready  to  answer  you,  since  you  de- 
sire it.  There  is  one  point  upon  which  1  owe  you  an 
explanation, — the  minority  in  which  I  have  kept  you  in 
spite  of  your  father's  weak  will.  My  course  in  this  re- 
spect I  think  entirely  justifiable,  for  every  right-minded 
person  who  knows  you  must  agree  with  me  that  it  would 
have  been  unprincipled  in  the  extreme  to  leave  you  to 
yourself  at  eighteen,  inexperienced  and  immature  as  you 
were.  It  was  an  arbitrary  measure  on  my  part,  but  it 
was  well  meant,  and  was  the  result  of  an  exaggerated 
affection  and  anxiety  for  you.  The  thought  that  you 
were  to  live  without  me,  and  I  without  you,  was  unen- 
durable to  me.  This  is  my  crime, — this  is  all  that  I  can 
say.  To  this  gentleman's  charges  I  answer  nothing. 
My  life  is  open  to  the  scrutiny  of  all,  it  has  been  passed 
in  unpretending  repose, — in  the  calm  pursuit  of  science, 
and  in  the  delight — now,  alas!  disturbed  indeed — of  edu- 
cating you.  I  regard  all  your  machinations,  sir,  with 
indifference.  Your  heated  fancy  would  fail  to  see  the 
truth  in  my  defence  of  my  actions.  Only  a  legal  investi- 
gation can  satisfy  you  of  my  innocence.  Why  should  I 
waste  further  words  upon  you?" 

Johannes  smiled.  "I  reserve  my  answer  to  the  first 
part  of  your  remarks,  but  with  regard  to  the  last  I  cannot 
refrain  from  asking  you  how  you  can  venture  to  speak 
of  innocence  after  your  niece  has  denied,  in  my  presence, 
the  signature  of  this  document  to  be  hers,  thus  proving 
that  it  is  a  forgery  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is  certainly  a  forgery, — no  one  can  deny 
that.  But  does  it  follow  that  I  executed  it?  I  had  a 
friend  in  Italy  to  whom  unfortunately  1  intrusted  every 
fact  in  relation  to  our  family  affairs,  placing  in  him  a  con- 
fidence that  prudence  could -not  warrant,  and,  in  view  of 
this  present  revelation,  I  cannot  but  fear  that  he  has 
played  the  traitor,  and,  assisted  by  some  unprincipled  no- 

34* 


402  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

tary "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  unwilling  to 

complete  so  grave  a  charge. 

Johannes  smiled  again,  almost  compassionately.  "  Will 
you  attempt  to  support  your  defence  upon  such  a  founda- 
tion ?  and  do  you  venture  to  meet  me  upon  this  plea 
alone?" 

"I  do,  sir;  for  the  law  will,  I  trust,  shortly  discover 
the  witnesses  of  the  crime  who  can  testify  as  to  whether 
I  or  my  false  friend  committed  the  forgery." 

Johannes  bethought  himself  for  an  instant,  and  then 
said,  looking  Leuthold  directly  in  the  eye,  "  Is  this  same 
false  friend  the  purchaser  of  the  factory  at  Unkenheim  ? 
Or  did  you  find  in  Italy  what  you  certainly  failed  to  find 
here, — such  wealth  of  friends  ?" 

Leuthold's  cheek  blanched  again,  and  Johannes  saw 
that  he  had  thrust  his  probe  into  a  deep  wound.  He 
instantly  availed  himself  of  his  advantage.  "I  sup- 
pose that  the  superintendent  at  Unkenheim,  acquainted 
as  he  is  with  your  Italian  friends,  will  shortly  be  able 
to  produce  the  witnesses  required  for  the  vindication 
of  your  innocence,  and  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  to  bring 
about  this  desirable  termination  of  the  affair."  Then, 
with  a  glance  at  Leuthold,  who  could  scarcely  hold  up 
his  head,  "Now,  Herr  Gleissert,  I  will  give  you  twenty- 
four  hours  in  which  to  decide  whether  you  prefer  an 
explanation  with  me  or  in  a  court  of  justice.  If  by  to- 
morrow evening  you  are  not  ready  to  explain  matters 
thoroughly  with  regard  to  Friiulein  von  Hartwich's  prop- 
erty, and  either  to  produce  the  same  or,  if  it  is  invested 
in  the  Unkenheim  factory,  to  give  sufficient  security  for 
it,  your  fate  is  sealed.  From  this  hour  your  house  will 
be  watched  day  and  night.  You  are  now  my  prisoner. 
At  the  slightest  attempt  to  escape,  you  will  be  handed 
over  to  the  custody  of  the  law,  even  although  I  should 
be  forced  to  deliver  you  up  with  my  own  hands.  You 
see  I  am  resolved  to  proceed  to  extremities.  You  have 
nothing  to  hope  for,  either  from  my  weakness  or  your 
cunning,  even  if  a  miracle  could  be  worked  in  your  fa- 
vour, and  the  costly  expedient  succeed  of  bribing  some 
Italian  rogue  to  personate  'the  false  friend,'  to  declare 
your  crime  his  own  and  endure  the  punishment  of  it, — 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  493 

even  although  the  notary,  who  could  establish  your  iden- 
tity and  the  drawing  up  of  the  deed,  were  dead, — even 
then  you  could  never  hope  to  escape  the  punishment  for 
mail-robbery!" 

Leutbold  started  as  if  stung. 

"You  can  hardly  accuse  of  falsehood  the  sharp  eyes 
of  a  peasant  of  this  place,  who  can  testify  that,  in  default 
of  other  amusement,  you  selected  for  your  perusal  the 
contents  of  the  village  letter-box,  retaining  in  your  own 
possession  whatever  especially  interested  you."  Johannes 
turned  to  Ernestine.  "I  do  not  know,  Fraulein  Ernes- 
tine, whether  you  have  done  me  the  honour  to  write  to 
me  lately,  but,  if  you  have,  your  uncle  probably  knows 
the  contents  of  your  letter  much  better  than  I,  who  have 
never  received  it.  At  all  events,  this  little  occurrence, 
for  which  I  can  produce  witnesses,  is  a  significant  illus- 
tration of  your  uncle's  character.  And  you,  Herr  Gleis- 
sert,  can  now  understand  that  there  is  no  escape  for  you 
unless  you  fulfil  the  conditions  upon  which  alone  I  will 
spare  Fraulein  von  Hartwich  the  disgrace  of  having  so 
near  a  relative  occupy  a  criminal's  cell.  You  are  beset 
on  all  sides, — entangled  in  your  own  crimes.  There  is  no 
hope  for  you !" 

He  ceased.  Leuthold  sat  still,  pale  and  mute.  Ernes- 
tine looked  down  at  him  with  compassion.  Then  she 
glanced  at  Johannes  with  admiration  bordering  on  awe. 
"You  are,  as  I  have  always  known  you,  upright,  but 
severe !" 

"Severe?  No,  by  Heaven!  The  punishment  too  se- 
vere for  this  unprincipled  man  is  yet  to  be  devised.  My 
imagination  is  not  cruel  enough  for  the  task!"  He  re- 
garded Ernestine  mournfully.  "  You  are  worn  out, — you 
need  repose."  Then  he  awaited  a  reply,  but  none  came. 
The  setting  sun  threw  its  crimson  rays  across  the  room. 
Ernestine  stood  silent,  her  hands  hanging  clasped  before 
her,  exerting  all  her  self-control.  Leuthold  had  propped 
his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  did  not  stir.  Johannes  took 
his  hat.  "Farewell,  Ernestine.  Permit  me  to  return 
to-morrow  to  learn  your  uncle's  final  decision."  He 
stepped  up  to  her  side.  "I  will  not  weary  you.  Let 
me  watch  over  your  destiny.  I  ask  it  as  the  right  of 


404  ONLY  A    CURL; 

friendship, — nothing  more,  —  I   assure   you,  —  nothing 
more!" 

"  Nothing  more !"  It  echoed  harshly  in  Ernestine's 
heart,  arid,  without  a  word  or  a  look,  with  only  a  cold  in- 
clination of  the  head,  she  dismissed  him.  "  He  does  not 
love  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  her  heart  grew  like  ice. 
He  watched  over  her  as  a  man  of  honour,  not  as  a  lover. 
He  knew  that  she  cared  for  him, — she  had  not  concealed  it 
from  him ;  he  had  thrust  the  obstacle  to  their  union  be- 
tween them  in  the  shape  of  his  narrow-minded  conditions 
— he  knew  that  these  were  all  that  separated  them,  and 
he  preferred  to  relinquish  her  rather  than  his  own  stub- 
born will !  He  demanded  of  her  every  concession,  without 
making  any,  even  the  smallest,  himself!  No,  her  uncle 
was  right,  he  had  never  loved  her.  How  could  she 
make  advances  now  without  proof  that  she  was  the  ob- 
ject of  his  love  ?  How  could  she  humble  herself  to  make 
the  required  sacrifice,  possessed  by  the  terrible  doubt  that 
he  had  required  it  in  the  full  conviction  that  it  would  not 
be  made  ?  The  least  advance  on  his  side,  the  faintest  sign 
that  he  would  yield  one  jot  of  the  prejudice  that  separated 
them,  would  have  given  her  new  life  and  made  her  happy. 
But  from  this  day  their  union  was  impossible, — it  was 
not  to  be  thought  of. 

Leuthold  interrupted  her  reverie.  He  had  left  the  room, 
and  now  returned  with  a  letter.  With  the  air  of  a  man 
resolved  upon  death,  he  held  it  out  to  his  niece.  "  Read 
that,  and  then  show  me  how  truly  great  you  are  !" 

Ernestine,  in  surprise,  unfolded  the  letter.  It  was  from 
the  superintendent,  received  the  day  previous.  It  con- 
tained the  announcement  in  a  few  words  that  the  estab- 
lishment was  bankrupt  and  Leuthold  ruined.  If  he  did 
not  escape  by  instant  flight,  he  would  be  overtaken  by 
the  punishment  of  his  crime.  Ernestine  read  and  re-read 
the  letter;  she  seemed  unable  to  understand  it.  "What 
does  it  mean  ?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"  It  means  that  Mollner  is  right  when  he  calls  me 
forger  and  thief." 

"  Uncle !"   cried  Ernestine  in  the  greatest  alarm. 

"  The  money  that  is  lost  in  the  Unkenheim  factory  was 
yours "  Leuthold  faltered. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  405 

"  You  have,  then,  deprived  me  of  my  fortune  ?"  she 
asked  in  a  low  tone. 

Leuthold  stood  before  her  apparently  annihilated. 
"Yes!" 

There  was  silence.  Ernestine  uttered  a  low  cry  and 
recoiled  from  him.  He  breathed  with  difficulty,  and  con- 
tinued, "I  could  and  would  confess  nothing  to  that  man. 
There  is  only  one  soul  on  earth  magnanimous  enough  to 
forgive  me,  and  to  it  alone  I  will  reveal  all  my  weakness. 
Ernestine,  I  have  shown  you  before,  in  my  love  and  care 
for  you,  the  reasons  that  induced  me  to  conceal  from  you 
the  termination  of  your  minority.  Did  you  believe  me  ?" 

"  I  will  believe  it." 

"  I  never  dreamed  into  what  fearful  temptation  I  was 
thereby  led.  The  consequences  of  what  I  did  were  these  : 
— I  was  obliged,  in  order  to  conceal  the  fact  of  your  ma- 
jority from  you,  to  appropriate  in  your  name  the  amount 
that  was  yours  when  you  reached  the  age  of  eighteen, 
and  this  without  your  knowledge.  I  did  it  with  the  firm 
intention  of  doing  what  was  best  for  you.  I  executed 
the  forgery,  never  dreaming  of  the  punishment  that  it 
would  entail  upon  me.  For  months  I  kept  your  money 
in  my  possession,  guarding  it  like  the  apple  of  my  eye. 
Hitherto  I  had  been  an  honest  man,  even  although,  with 
the  best  intentions,  I  had  transgressed  the  letter  of  the 
law.  Now,  Ernestine,  came  the  turning-point  of  my  life, 
and  I  implore  you  to  lend  a  lenient  ear  to  this  terrible 
confession.  The  brother  of  the  Staatsrathin  Mollner  was 
just  bankrupt,  and  the  Unkenheim  factory  was  advertised 
for  sale  upon  the  most  favourable  conditions.  To  this 
temptation  I  succumbed.  Can  you  not  divine  how  a  man 
is  fascinated  by  the  one  pursuit  to  which  he  has  given  the 
best  years  of  his  life,  that  is  in  a  certain  sense  the  work 
of  his  mind  and  hands?  It  had  been  a  bitter  pain  to  me 
to  relinquish  the  flourishing  business  to  which  I  had  so 
long  devoted  my  best  energies,  and  now  it  was  again  in 
the  market.  Want  of  knowledge  and  capacity  had  ruined 
it.  I,  who  knew  every  part  of  it  most  thoroughly,  could 
easily  build  it  up  again  if  I  had  the  means  to  buy  it.  I 
resisted  a  long  time, — the  advertisement  of  its  sale  ap- 
peared a  second  and  a  third  time.  I  consulted  a  mer- 


406  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

chant  in  Naples  who  was,  I  heard,  on  the  point  of  visiting 
Germany.  He  offered  to  make  the  purchase  for  me  in  my 
name, — he  persuaded  me  to  allow  him  to  do  it.  The  op- 
portunity was  so  favourable, — the  money  lay  idle  in  my 
hands, — I  was  so  certain  of  doubling  it,  and  thus  securing 
my  own  and  my  poor  child's  future, — I  knew  as  surely  that 
when  you  should  come  to  know  it,  you  would  never  re- 
proach me  for  thus  investing  your  money.  Ten  times  I 
stood  upon  your  threshold,  determined  to  tell  you  every- 
thing and  entreat  your  permission  to  dispose  of  your  prop- 
erty thus.  I  knew  you  would  not  withhold  it  from  me. 
But  the  insane  dread  of  losing  you  as  soon  as  you  knew 
you  were  of  age  always  deterred  me.  I  took  the  money, 
firmly  resolved  to  restore  it  to  the  uttermost  farthing.  This 
is  the  story  of  my  crime.  Now  for  the  tale  of  my  misfor- 
tunes. I  failed  in  what  I  undertook.  I  enlarged  the  fac- 
tory at  considerable  expense,  and  suddenly  unforeseen 
obstacles,  iu  the  nature  of  the  soil,  presented  themselves, 
material  that  I  had  purchased  at  a  high  price  sunk  in 
value  before  it  could  be  manufactured,  and  I  lost  fifty  per 
cent,  in  the  sale  of  the  finished  goods.  Such  disasters 
as  these  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  There 
was  a  curse  upon  everything  that  I  undertook, — the  curse, 
I  admit  it,  of  an  overestimate  of  my  own  powers, — for  I 
should  have  known  that  a  clever  scholar  is  not  neces- 
sarily a  merchant,  and  that  the  technical  knowledge  as  a 
chemist  which  had  stood  me  in  such  stead  in  a  compara- 
tively small  establishment  was  not  business  capacity  for 
an  immense  undertaking.  But  what  now  avails  my  re- 
morse, my  late  confession  ?  Your  fortune,  Ernestine,  has 
been  the  price  of  the  terrible  lesson.  I  can  give  you  no 
more  of  it  than  will  pay  for  your  passage  to  New  York, — 
can  offer  you  no  indemnification  for  it  but  the  revenge 
which  this  frank  confession  will  afford  you  the  means  of 
gratifying.  Decide  ;  do  with  me  what  you  will, — I  will 
accept  my  fate  from  your  hand,  but  from  no  other." 

The  hypocrite  sank  at  her  feet,  as  though  utterly  crushed, 
and  pressed  the  tips  of  her  cold  fingers  to  his  lips. 

"  Uncle,"  began  Ernestine,  and  her  voice  trembled, 
"stand  up!  I  cannot  endure  the  sight  of  a  man  before 
whom  1  have  been  used  to  stand  in  awe,  grovelling  at  my 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  407 

feet  like  a  crushed  serpent,  whose  writhings  excite  aver- 
sion rather  than  compassion.  Stand  up  !  I  pray  you 
stand  up!"  She  turned  from  him,  that  she  might  no 
longer  see  him. 

"  Ernestine,"  cried  Leuthold  terrified,  "  you  are  mar- 
ble I" 

"  I  am  what  you  have  made  me." 

He  had  expected  a  different  result  from  his  confession, 
and  he  watched  Ernestine  with  the  greatest  anxiety. 
She  read  the  letter  once  more,  and  then  sank  on  the  sofa 
and  buried  her  face  in  the  cushions. 

"  Ernestine,  be  composed  !"  he  cried,  with  a  degree  of 
his  native  insolence  which  could  not  all  be  concealed  be- 
hind the  mask  that  he  had  assumed.  "  Punish  my  crime, 
take  what  revenge  you  will,  but  spare  me  the  sight  of 
your  humiliating  despair  at  the  loss  of  wealth." 

"  Do  you  imagine,  man  of  no  conscience,  that  I  mourn 
for  my  lost  wealth  ?"  said  Ernestine  wrathfully,  but  with 
dignity.  "  If  you  had  asked  me  honourably  for  the  money 
and  then  lost  it  through  some  misfortune,  I  would  have 
died  sooner  than  have  reproached  you  by  a  word  or  a  tear. 
But  I  must  despise  the  only  human  being  in  the  world 
upon  whom  I  have  any  claim.  All  that  I  have  is  lost 
through  crime,  and  this  passes  my  endurance.  You  know 
well  what  depends  upon  the  shining  bits  of  metal  of 
which  you  have  robbed  me — freedom  of  thought  and  ac- 
tion,— the  noblest  possessions  that  life  can  give.  For 
the  sake  of  these  you  have  robbed  me,  for  you  are  no 
thief  to  steal  money  only  for  the  sake  of  money.  You 
know,  too,  what  a  loss  it  is  fora  woman, — that  it  entails 
upon  her  dependence  perhaps  servitude, — yes,  servitude, 
to  become  a  mere  machine,  obeying  unquestioningly 
another's  will, — and  this  for  a  soul  that  would  have  bowed 
to  no  power  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  but  that  rejoiced  in  its 
pride  in  being  the  centre  of  its  own  self-created  world ! 
And  you,  knowing  how  in  this  thought  I  die  a  thousand 
deaths,  dare  to  reproach  me  with  despair  at  the  loss  of 
mere  wealth  !  Look  you,  I  do  not  forget,  even  in  this 
terrible  moment,  what  you  have  done  for  me  since  my 
childhood, — what  an  inexhaustible  mine  of  intellectual 
wealth  you  have  revealed  to  me  in  exchange  for  the 


408  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

earthly  treasure  you  have  taken  from  me, — and,  remember- 
ing this,  I  renounce  the  revenge  that  you  offer  me.  Save 
yourself  if  you  can,  but  do  not  require  of  me  sufficient 
'greatness  of  soul'  to  forgive  you  !" 

Leuthold  breathed  freely  once  more.  This  was  all  he 
wished  to  hear, — that  she  would  not  deliver  him  up  to 
justice.  The  worst  was  over.  If  she  thus  in  the  first 
outburst  of  her  anger  rejected  the  idea  of  bringing  pun- 
ishment upon  him,  she  might,  when  more  composed,  be 
brought  to  connive  at  and  share  his  flight. 

"  Ernestine,"  he  said,  after  a  moment  of  reflection, 
"  every  one  of  your  words  is  like  a  coal  of  fire  upon  my 
guilty  head.  Even  in  your  righteous  indignation  you 
are  noble  and  gentle.  You  tell  me  I  may  save  myself, 
but  do  you  imagine  that  I  can  go  away  without  you  ? 
Could  I  endure  the  thought  of  you  struggling  with  pov- 
erty, without  me  to  labour  for  you  and  to  shield  you  ? 
Have  I  tended  you  for  all  these  years  with  a  mother's 
solicitude,  to  leave  you  to  your  fate  now,  when  you  need 
me  more  than  ever  ?  Girl,  if  you  think  thus  of  me,  you 
do  me  grievous  wrong !"  Ernestine  looked  at  him  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Either  you  fly  with  me,  or  I  remain  and  brave  the 
worst !"  said  Leuthold  with  heroic  resolution. 

Ernestine  recoiled.  "  I  go  with  you !  No,  I  cannot  de- 
scend so  low, — our  paths  in  life  lie,  from  this  moment,  far, 
far  apart." 

Leuthold  saw  her  aversion.  He  was  lost  if  she  per- 
sisted in  her  refusal.  For  even  although  he  might  suc- 
ceed in  escaping  Mollner's  vigilance  for  the  time,  it  would 
soon  be  known  abroad  that  he  had  embezzled  Ernestine's 
fortune  and  left  her  impoverished,  and  his  foe  would  only 
pursue  him  all  the  more  obstinately.  Ernestine  would 
be  required  by  the  law  to  speak,  and,  truthful  as  she  was, 
there  was  no  doubt  that  she  would  expose  all  his  villainy. 
Only  by  keeping  her  with  him  could  she  be  rendered 
harmless;  concealment  without  her  was  impossible. 

"  You  hate  me,  and  it  is  natural  for  you  to  do  so,"  said 
he.  "  I  will  not  recall  to  you  all  the  time  and  trouble  that 
I  have  expended  upon  you  since  your  childhood, — the  pa- 
tience with  which  I  have  endured  your  caprices,  nor  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  409 

love  with  which,  when  Heim  gave  you  up,  I  watched  over 
and  preserved  your  life.  All  this  youknow,  and  you  believe 
it  fully  repaid  by  your  magnanimous  resolve  not  to  deliver 
up  your  uncle  to  a  jail.  You  best  know  your  duty  in  this 
matter.  But,  Ernestine,  you  should  not  hate  me  more 
than  you  do  your  father,  whom  you  have  long  since  for- 
given, and  upon  whom  you  now  bestow  so  much  sym- 
pathy, for  I  can  truly  affirm  that  I  have  dealt  more  kindly 
by  you  than  he.  He  was  a  drunkard, — a  man  degraded  to 
the  level  of  a  brute.  He  did  not  bring  you  up  ;  I  have  done 
it.  He  scarcely  clothed  and  fed  you.  I  have  surrounded 
you  with  everything  that  your  heart  could  desire.  He 
always  hated  you,  I  have  loved  you  from  a  child.  You 
must  remember  well  how  often  I  protected  you  from  his 
ill  treatment,  and  that  once,  when  I  was  not  by,  he 
almost  killed  you.  He  never  would  have  provided  for 
you  as  a  father  should,  had  he  not  been  driven  to  it  by  re- 
morse for  his  conduct  towards  you.  Two-thirds  of  the 
property,  Ernestine,  that  he  bequeathed  to  you  were 
mine  by  right.  I  had  earned  it  in  his  service.  He  be- 
queathed it  to  you,  and  I  acquiesced  silently.  I  resigned 
it  without  even  hinting  to  you  iny  just  claims.  I  sepa- 
rated myself  from  my  child  that  she  might  be  educated 
as  became  her  moderate  expectations,  a  sure  proof  that  I 
had  no  designs  upon  your  wealth.  For  all  this  self- 
sacrifice  I  asked  only  the  delight,  the  great  delight,  of 
training  to  full  perfection  a  young  mind, — such  a  mind 
as  no  woman  was  ever  before  possessed  of.  You  can 
bear  me  witness  that  I  have  taught  you  nothing  evil, — 
that  I  have  opened  your  eyes  to  the  good  and  the 
beautiful,  helping  you  to  decipher  the  book  of  nature, 
where  only  what  can  elevate  the  mind  is  to  be  found. 
You  can  comprehend,  by  the  aversion  with  which  you 
now  regard  your  fallen  teacher,  how  pure  his  teachings 
have  preserved  your  heart.  I  ask  you  to  reflect,  Ernes- 
tine, whether  all  this  does  not  give  me  at  least  the  same 
claim  upon  your  sympathy  as  that  which  you  now  yield 
to  your  father." 

Ernestine  listened  with  increasing  emotion  and  sym- 
pathy. She  buried  her  face  in  the  cushions  of  the  sofa, 
and  burst  into  tears. 

35 


410  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Leuthold  regarded  her  with  satisfaction.  He  knew 
that  the  woman  who  weeps  yields.  He  continued,  "You 
have  convinced  me  that  I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  your 
hatred.  You  have  told  me  that  you  renounce  your  re- 
venge, and  a  nature  like  yours  performs  what  it  prom- 
ises. But,  Ernestine,  this  does  not  content  me.  My  tor- 
tured conscience  cannot  rest  until  you  permit  me  to  take 
charge  of  your  future.  Let  me  at  least  try  to  atone  for 
my  crime.  Grant  me  this  alleviation  of  the  burden  that 
weighs  me  to  the  earth.  Pity  me,  and  allow  me  the  only 
expiation  that  is  possible  for  me!" 

"What  shall  I  do,  then?"  asked  Ernestine  in  broken 
accents. 

"Go  with  me,  my  child,  that  I  may  share  with  you  the 
bread  that  I  earn, — that  I  may  open  such  a  future  to  you 
as  you  could  never  enjoy  in  Germany.  You  have  just 
signed  a  brilliant  engagement;  you  cannot  break  it  now, 
just  when  you  need  a  means  of  support.  It  would  be 
madness  to  reject  what  offers  you  a  position  commensurate 
with  your  ability.  But  you  can  never  occupy  it  satisfac- 
torily without  my  aid.  You  well  know  how  indispen- 
sable I  am  to  you  in  every  new  undertaking.  You  must 
pursue  fresh  studies.  Not  for  the  world  must  you  allow 
a  flaw  to  be  found  in  your  acquirements  on  the  other  side 
of  the  water.  Hate  me,  despise  me,  if  you  will,  but  con- 
sent to  avail  yourself  of  my  protection  on  the  long  voyage 
to  New  York.  Trust  me,  I  detest  sentimentality,  as  you 
know,  but  it  is  hard  to  bury  one  of  your  kin  before  he  is 
dead.  You  will  find  it  harder  than  you  think.  One 
cannot  tear  one's  self  loose  in  a  moment  from  the  memory 
of  hours,  days,  and  years  spent  together  striving  for  a 
common  aim,  and  the  buried  companion  will  knock  upon 
his  coffin-lid  when  such  memories  arise."  He  paused. 
Ernestine's  short,  quick  breathing  showed  what  a  struggle 
was  going  on  within  her.  At  last  she  shook  her  head, 
sprang  up,  and  walked  undecidedly  to  and  fro. 

Leuthold  continued,  "You  cannot  help  it, — you  must 
go  with  me, — what  else  can  you  do  ?  Reflect,  what 
course  can  you  adopt  if  you  remain  here?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  murmured  gloomily  in  a  low 
tone. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  41 1 

"There  are  none  here  to  whom  you  could  turn,  except 
the  Mollners " 

Ernestine  added,  "And  old  Dr.  Heim." 

"Yes,  Heirn  and  the  Mollners  are  like  one  family. 
Naturally,  they  would  all  do  what  they  could  for  you. 
Heim  would  exult  greatly  in  the  fulfilment  of  his  prophe- 
cies." 

Ernestine  bit  her  lip. 

"  To  be  sure,  after  what  has  occurred,  you  may  safely 
look  to  them  for  the  means  of  support.  Perhaps  they 
may  find  you  a  place  as  a  governess,  if  they  should  be- 
come tired  of  you.  But  the  question  is  whether  that 
would  not  be  a  deeper  humiliation  than  going  abroad 
with  me.  Good  heavens !  in  this  world  you  must  call 
many  a  one  comrade  whose  conscience  is  far  from  clear, 
and  whom  you  must  not  ask  for  a  certificate  of  character. 
Let  your  uncle  be  to  you  one  of  these.  I  will  not  intrude 
upon  you, — will  not  enter  your  presence,  if  you  do  not 
desire  it." 

He  waited  for  an  answer.  Ernestine's  eyes  were  fixed 
broodingly  upon  the  ground. 

"Or  possibly  you  would  rather  reconsider  your  deter- 
mination, and  go  to  the  Frau  Staatsrathin  and  beg  to  be 
forgiven.  I  fear, — I  greatly  fear, — the  prudent  mother 
would  say,  'Aha,  she  was  haughty  enough  as  long  as  she 
had  plenty  of  money,  but,  now  that  it  has  all  gone,  she 
grows  humble  and  is  quite  willing  to  ask  for  shelter  and 
countenance.  She  asks  for  bread  now  that  she  is  hungry. 
The  most  savage  brutes  are  tamed  by  hunger, — when 
its  pangs  are  keen  the  heart  is  weak.'  " 

"  Hush,  uncle !  oh,  hush  !"  cried  Ernestine  with  a 
shudder. 

But  Leuthold  was  not  to  be  silenced.  He  was  in  his 
element  again.  "That  is  what  the  supercilious  mother 
would  say,  for  these  intellectual  aristocrats  are  filled  with 
the  pride  of  independence,  and  exact  it  from  others.  And 
the  Herr  Professor?  Naturally,  he  would  feel  it  doubly 
his  duty  to  marry  you  and  cherish  the  starving  woman. 
But  when  the  first  enthusiasm  of  sympathy  was  past, 
what,  think  you,  Ernestine,  would  be  his  reflections  in 
cooler  moments  ?" 


412  ONLY  A    GIRL: 

"  He  would  say,  '  Necessity  made  her  my  wife, — not 
love.'" 

"  '  And  why  should  I  give  love  in  return  ?' "  Leuthold 
completed  the  thought. 

"  Or  even  esteem,"  Ernestine  added  with  a  spasmodic 
shiver.  "No,  no!  it  shall  not  come  to  that.  I  will  not 
sink  so  low.  Noble  and  true  as  he  is,  he  shall  not  accuse 
me  of  such  selfishness.  His  proud,  suspicious  mother 
shall  not  find  me  a  beggar  at  her  door, — rather  a  grave  in 
mid-ocean!"  She  drew  near  to  Leuthold.  Her  breath 
came  in  gasps,  her  pulses  throbbed.  "  Uncle,  you  have 
destroyed  my  happiness  in  life,  help  me  to  preserve  all 
that  is  left  for  me, — my  self-respect!" 

"  Then  come  with  me.  Not  until  the  ocean  rolls  be- 
tween you  and  this  man  can  you  be  secure  from  your  own 
weakness." 

Ernestine  sank  down  exhausted.  "So  be  it!  You 
have  conquered!" 


CHAPTER  V. 

SCIENCE   AND    FAITH. 

THE  dawning  day  strove  in  vain  to  lift  the  misty  veil 
that  a  rainy  night  had  spread  over  hill  and  dale.  It  was 
one  of  those  mornings  when  the  waning  summer — like  a 
belle  whose  charms  are  of  the  past  in  her  morning  dis- 
habille—  showed  plainly  that  its  glories  were  fading. 
The  rising  sun  crept  behind  the  cold,  misty  clouds,  and 
the  bushes  were  dripping  with  tears  of  regret.  The 
faithful  watcher,  who  had  stood  on  guard  all  night  near 
the  castle,  shook  the  wet  from  his  cloak  and  shivered 
as  be  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  school-house,  whence 
relief  was  to  arrive. 

He  did  not  wait  long.  The  powerful  figure  of  a  young 
man  appeared  briskly  advancing  through  the  mist.  Slowly 
and  sleepily  the  clock  in  the  tower  of  the  village  church 
tolled  half-past  four. 


OR  A  PHYSIC  I  AN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  413 

"To  a  moment !"  cried  the  watcher  to  the  new  arrival. 
"  This  is  punctuality  indeed  !" 

"Good-morning!"  said  Walter.  "Brr!  the  air  is  cold. 
You  must  be  almost  frozen." 

"Not  more  so  than  the  huntsman  on  the  watch,"  re- 
plied Johannes.  "Ardour  for  the  chase  makes  him  warm. 
I  burn  and  long  to  clutch  that  beast  of  prey  up  there. 
Oh,  Walter,  I  am  not  easily  roused, — my  nature  is  a  quiet 
one, — but  if  that  man  had  tried  to  slip  away  in  the  night, 
and  had  fallen  into  my  hands,  I  could  not  have  answered 
for  the  consequences." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  you,"  laughed  Walter.  "  Nothing 
would  gratify  me  more  than  a  chance  at  the  fellow.  How 
did  you  spend  the  night  ?  Could  you  not  sit  down  ?" 

"  No,  I  was  not  calm  enough  to  do  anything  but  pace 
to  and  fro,  and  now  it  is  beginning  to  tell  upon  my 
wearied  limbs." 

"  Make  haste,  then,  and  get  dry  and  warm.  My  father 
is  impatiently  expecting  you.  He  is  up  and  dressed, 
and  my  mother  has  a  good  cup  of  coffee  waiting  for 
you." 

"  How  kind  you  all  are  !"  said  Johannes.  "  But  I  am 
very  anxious,  Walter.  Gleissert  was  with  Ernestine  until 
midnight.  From  the  hill  yonder  I  could  see  their  heads 
through  the  window.  They  appeared  to  be  in  eager  con- 
versation, and  moved  about,  as  if  they  were  packing.  Oh, 

if  she  can  possibly  intend " 

"  Do  not  be  in  the  least  alarmed, — she  cannot,  after 
what  you  have  told  her." 

"  But  how,  after  what  I  have  told  her,  can  she  endure 
that  man  about  her  for  hours  ?  How  can  she  breathe  the 
air  of  the  room  where  he  is,  for  even  ten  minutes  ?" 

"  Hm — it  does  seem  incredible.  But,  whatever  happens, 
we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  and  be  ready.  I  will 
do  my  duty  in  this  respect.  Go,  now,  and  rest  for  a 
couple  of  hours,  that  you  may  relieve  me  at  school-time. 
Had  you  only  allowed  me  to  watch  in  your  place,  he 
would  have  found  me  as  difficult  as  you  to  deal  with." 

"You  help  me  enough  by  assisting  me  during  the 
day.  Good-by,  then.  I  shall  be  back  at  eight  o'clock." 

35* 


414  ONLY  A    OIRL; 

And  Johannes  walked  slowly  and  wearily  towards  the 
school-house.  When  he  entered  the  low,  dimly-lighted 
room,  he  found  the  steaming  coffee-pot  already  upon  the 
table.  Frau  Leonhardt  had  seen  him  coming,  and  all  was 
in  readiness  for  him. 

Herr  Leonhardt  sat  in  his  place  by  the  stove,  and  held 
out  his  hand  with  a  kind  but  anxious  "  Good-morning  ! 
How  are  you  after  your  unwonted  duty  through  the 
night?" 

"  Tolerably,  old  friend,"  replied  Johannes,  "  but  I  can- 
not deny  that  my  respect  has  considerably  increased  since 
yesterday  for  the  honourable  guild  of  watchmen. — No, 
thank  you,  Frau  Leonhardt,  I  cannot  eat  anything." 

"  Oh,  do  not  drink  your  coffee  without  a  morsel  of 
something  solid.  Well,  if  you  do  not  wish  it — but,  you 
see,  here  it  is  1" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Frau  Leonhardt,  I  see  it,"  Johannes  as- 
sured her,  with  a  smiling  glance  at  the  great  basketful  of 
biscuits. 

"  You  must  know  that  my  Brigitta  was  up  half  the 
night  to  prepare  her  most  tempting  biscuits  for  your 
breakfast, — it  is  all  she  could  do  for  you.  Yes,  Brigitta, 
the  Herr  Professor  can  appreciate  your  good  will." 

"  Indeed  I  can,"  said  Johannes.  "  Such  womanly 
kindness  is  dear  to  me  wherever  I  meet  with  it.  Your 
labour  shall  not  be  in  vain."  And  he  forced  himself 
to  eat. 

"  Oh,"  said  Brigitta,  "  if  the  Fraulein  had  known  that 
you  were  walking  up  and  down  beneath  her  windows  in 
the  cold  night,  she  would  have  been  grieved  enough,  and 
filled  with  pity !" 

"  The  Fraulein  knows  no  pity,  my  dear  Frau  Leon- 
hardt," said  Johannes  bitterly. 

The  old  man  laid  his  hand  kindly  upon  Johannes' 
shoulder.  "You  do  not  mean  what  you  say.  You  cannot 
think  so  meanly  of  her — your  impatience  speaks  now, 
not  you.  If  you  could  only  understand  her  noble  nature 
as  I  do,  who  am  not  blinded  by  passion  !" 

"  But,  Father  Leonhardt,  I  do  not  deny  Ernestine's  noble 
nature.  Should  I  devote  myself  to  her  as  I  am  now  doing 
after  her  rejection  of  me,  if  I  did  not  know  her  to  be  more 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  415 

than  worthy  of  all  that  I  can  do  ?  But  if  you  could 
have  seen  her  rigid,  marble  face  yesterday,  you  would 
have  questioned,  as  I  did,  whether  that  young  girl  really 
possessed  a  heart." 

"Indeed,  indeed  she  does  possess  one,"  affirmed  the  old 
man.  "  But  remember,  Herr  Professor,  her  heart  has  hith- 
erto been  fed  solely  through  her  understanding.  She  has 
had  nothing  to  love  but  ideas.  Human  beings  she  has 
known  nothing  of.  What  wonder,  then,  if  she  imagines  that 
she  should  love  only  where  her  intellect  can  say  Amen  ? 
That  Amen  cannot  be  said  in  your  case,  for  you  have 
opposed  all  that  has  hitherto  had  the  warrant  of  her 
intellect,  which  must  needs  be  in  arms  against  you, 
and  the  oppressed  young  heart  must  mutely  acquiesce. 
Ernestine's  intellect  is  that  of  a  full-grown  man,  while 
her  sensibilities  are  as  undeveloped  as  those  of  a  girl  of 
fifteen.  The  consequence  is  that  incessant  contradic- 
tions appear  in  her  conduct.  Give  these  undeveloped 
sensibilities  time,  do  not  stunt  them  by  coldness,  and 
you  will  see  them  assert  their  rights  in  opposition  to  the 
intellect.  She  might  almost  be  called  a  kind  of  Caspar 
Hauser  in  the  world  of  sentiment.  She  is  not  at  home 
there.  She  needs  a  patient  teacher,  and  such  a  one  she 
will  find  in  you,  I  am  sure.  Do  all  that  you  can  to  pre- 
vent her  from  going  to  America ;  if  she  goes,  she  is  as 
good  as  dead  for  us." 

"  Rely  upon  me,  faithful  and  wise  old  friend,"  cried 
Johannes,  and  fresh  resolution  was  depicted  on  his  face. 
"  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  for  her, — not  for  my  own  sake, 
but  for  hers." 

"  If  you  have  finished  your  breakfast,  you  must  take 
some  rest,"  said  Leonhardt.  "My  wife  has  arranged  a 
bed  for  you." 

"I  accept  your  kindness  gratefully,"  replied  Johannes, 
"  for  I  am  exhausted,  and  have  a  fatiguing  day  before  me." 

"Then  let  me  show  you  to  your  room.  That  service 
even  a  blind  man  can  render  you,"  said  the  old  man  with 
a  smile. 

And  the  two  ascended  to  the  upper  story,  where  Herr 
Leonhardt  opened  a  door  and  showed  his  guest  into  a  scru- 
pulously neat  little  apartment,  containing  a  most  inviting 


416  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

bed.  Then  he  groped  about,  assuring  himself  that  all 
was  as  it  should  be,  and  returned  to  the  room  below,  say- 
ing, as  he  closed  the  door,  "  Take  a  good  sleep, — you  may 
need  'the  strength  it  will  give  you." 

"  Thanks,  a  thousand  thanks,  Father  Leonhardt!"  Jo- 
hannes cried  after  him,  and  he  listened  to  the  careful 
tread  of  his  kind  host  upon  the  narrow  stairway.  Then 
his  eyes  closed.  Frau  Brigitta's  words  sounded  in  his 
ears,  "  If  the  Fraulein  had  known  that  you  were  walking 
up  and  down  beneath  her  windows  in  the  cold  night " 

She  must  have  known  it.  He  had  told  her  plainly 
enough  that  he  should  do  so,  and  she  had  not  even  opened 
a  window  or  looked  out  at  him.  But  stay, — stay !  She 
would  come  out  to  him  herself.  See  !  see  !  The  gate 
opened  softly.  Was  her  uncle  with  her  ?  No  !  She  was 
alone, — quite  alone!  "  Come,"  she  whispered,  "you  are 
cold.  Come  in."  And  she  took  his  hands  and  breathed 
upon  them  and  rubbed  them.  "  Will  you  not  come  into 
the  house  ?"  she  asked.  "  There  you  can  watch  for  my 
uncle  and  be  out  of  the  rain,  and  I  will  stay  with  you 
and  never,  never  leave  you." 

"Ernestine,"  cried  Johannes,  stretching  out  his  arms  to 
embrace  her.  The  sudden  motion  awoke  him,  and  he 
found  himself  alone.  He  could  not  have  slept  more  than 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  yet  he  could  not  go  to  sleep 
again.  He  lay  quietly  resting  for  a  time,  and  then  arose, 
prepared  to  go  through  with  the  decisive  day  that  awaited 
him. 

Evening  bad  come.  As  on  the  previous  day,  Ernestine 
was  sitting  at  her  writing-table,  but  it  was  empty  now. 
Its  contents  were  packed  up  in  the  chests  which  were 
standing  in  the  room,  locked  and  ready  for  the  voyage. 
Ernestine  sat  idly,  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  listening 
to  her  uncle's  directions  to  the  weeping  housekeeper  in 
reference  to  the  price  at  which  she  was  to  dispose  of  the 
furniture  of  the  house. 

"  The  scientific  works  and  the  apparatus  I  shall  leave 
to  Walter  Leonhardt,"  she  said. 

"  What !"  cried  Leuthold.  "Are  you  going  to  give  away 
at  least  a  thousand  thalers?"  He  paused,  with  a  glance 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  417 

at  Frau  Willmers,  who  had  the  tact  to  leave  the  room. 
"  Why  throw  money  out  of  the  window,  now  that  we  are 
beggared  ?" 

"  The  thousand  thalers  that  the  things  would  bring 
would  not  keep  me  from  starving,  while  they  will  secure 
the  young  man's  future.  He  has  talents  that  must  not 
run  to  waste,  and  which  I  can  foster  by  giving  him  the 
means  of  pursuing  his  studies." 

"Is  it  possible?  You  think  it  your  duty,  then,  to 
foster  all  neglected  genius  ?" 

"Uncle,"  said  Ernestine  with  cold  severity,  "I  pray 
you  spare  me  your  opinion  of  my  conduct.  The  habit 
of  submission,  it  appears,  is  more  easily  discarded  than 
that  of  ruling.  I  have  cast  aside  the  former,  since  yes- 
terday, like  a  garment.  It  would  be  well  for  you  to  do 
the  same  with  the  latter." 

"  But  I  thought  I  might  at  least  be  suffered  to  advise," 
observed  Leuthold. 

"  I  will  ask  your  advice  when  I  think  it  necessary. 
In  this  matter  it  is  enough  that  I  choose  to  do  as  I  have 
said." 

Leuthold  regarded  her  immovable  features  with  a  mix- 
ture of  fear  and  hatred,  and  thought  to  himself,  "  Once 
let  me  get  you  on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  and  in  my 
power,  and  you  shall  atone  bitterly  for  all  the  trouble 
that  you  give  me  now." 

And  his  restless  fancy  painted  vividly  before  his  mind's 
eye  the  revenge  that  awaited  him  in  that  new  world, 
and  an  ugly  smile  was  upon  his  lips  as  he  thought  of  all 
that  his  niece's  proud  nature  would  have  to  endure. 

Ernestine  arose.  "There  are  only  a  few  hours  left  be- 
fore our  departure,"  she  said.  "I  must  be  sure  that  my 
intentions  will  be  carried  out." 

She  went  into  her  laboratory,  and  packed  up,  as  well 
as  she  could,  the  apparatus  that  she  designed  for  Walter. 
Then  she  reopened  the  letter  that  she  was  to  leave  with 
Willmers  for  Leonhardt,  and  added  these  words,  "  Come 
what  may,  I  pray  you  preserve  these  books  and  instru- 
ments for  me  as  relics.  Say  they  are  yours,  or  they  will 
be  snatched  from  you  and  from  me." 

Thus  she  made  her  gift  secure  from  the  clutches  of  the 


418  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

law.  She  knew  Leuthold  well  enough  to  feel  sure  that 
he  would  not  seek  to  prevent  its  removal  from  the  house 
if  he  could  not  keep  it  for  his  niece.  Then  she  sent  off 
the  chests  from  the  laboratory,  and  went  into  the  library 
to  select  the  books  that  Walter  was  to  have.  Leuthold 
hurried  in,  and  said  to  her,  "  Mollner  is  coming !  Now, 
Ernestine,  summon  up  all  your  resolution  !"  His  teeth 
fairly  chattered  with  agitation.  "  Be  strong,  Ernestine. 
A  human  life  is  at  stake!  If  you  do  not  save  me  from 
Mollner's  revenge  and  from  the  law,  I  am  a  dead  man! 
By  the  life  of  my  child, — dearer  to  me  than  aught  else  on 
earth, — I  swear  to  you  that  I  will  commit  suicide  sooner 
than  put  on  a  convict's  jacket !  Now  act  accordingly." 

Ernestine  gazed  at  him  with  horror.  At  last  he  was 
speaking  the  truth!  Sheer,  blank  despair  was  painted 
on  his  features. 

"Uncle,"  she  cried,  "be  calm!  I  will  not  drive  you 
to  suicide !  My  resolve  is  firm.  Will  you  not  be  present?" 

"  No,  that  would  make  mischief.  I  will  get  everything 
ready  for  our  departure,  that  nothing  may  detain  us.  Do 
not  forget.  We  are  reconciled, — do  you  hear  ?  Will  you 
tell  him  so  ?" 

"I  promise  you." 

"  I  will  go.  I  will  not  meet  him.  Bless  you  for  every 
kind  word,  and  curses  upon  you  if  you  should  betray  me." 

He  hurried  away,  and  Ernestine  looked  after  him  with 
a  shudder.  A  human  life  hung  upon  her  lips !  A  curse 
awaited  every  thoughtless  word  that  she  might  utter! 
She  stood  alone  and  helpless,  burdened  thus  heavily,  a 
young,  inexperienced  creature,  scarcely  able  to  bear  the 
responsibility  of  her  own  actions.  She  spurred  on  her 
fainting  energies  to  accomplish  the  almost  superhuman 
task  allotted  to  her. 

Her  dreaded  visitor  entered. 

"Forgive  me,  Ernestine,"  he  said,  "for  thus  intruding 
unannounced.  Your  housekeeper  directed  me  hither. 
This  is  no  time  for  empty  formalities.  It  is  time  for  ac- 
tion, and,  if  need  be,  for  a  life-and-death  struggle.  I 
have  just  seen  the  chests  sent  off  to  Herr  Leonhardt.  I 
learn  from  Frau  Willmers  that  you  are  going, — really 
going, — with  your  uncle.  Ernestine,  I  have  no  words 


Oil   A    j'ln^iClA.V  FOR    THE  SOUL.  419 

for  the  anguish  that  I  ana  now  enduring !  I  could  submit 
to  your  rejection  of  my  suit,  for  I  might  still  love  you, 
but  to  find  you  unworthy  of  my  love,  Ernestine,  would 
be  more  than  I  can  bear." 

"And  what  could  so  degrade  me  in  your  eyes  ?"  asked 
Ernestine  with  offended  pride. 

"  Your  not  fleeing  from  such  a  villain,  as  from  the  Evil 
One  himself, — your  harbouring  the  intention  of  going  forth 
into  the  world  with  one  abhorred  alike  of  God  and  man, 
not  feeling  sufficient  detestation  of  the  crime  to  induce  you 
to  avoid  the  criminal  who  must  be  shunned  by  every 
honest  man.  Oh,  Ernestine,  I  cannot  believe  it  now!  I 
would  rather  die  than  believe  it!" 

"  He  has  excused  himself  in  my  eyes,"  said  Ernestine, 
deeply  wounded.  "  He  has  convinced  me  that  no  human 
being  should  condemn  another  unheard.  I  am  not  con- 
scious of  such  perfection  and  infallibility  in  myself  as 
would  permit  me  to  dare  to  judge  and  denounce.  That 
must  be  left  for  those  better  and  stronger  than  I.  The 
tie  that  bound  me  to  him  is,  it  is  true,  broken,  but  I  must 
tread  the  same  path  that  be  treads.  I  cannot  refuse  to 
share  his  wanderings.". 

"  Do  you  not  fear  the  disgrace  that  will  attach  to  you 
by  thus  joining  your  lot  with  that  of  a  criminal,  amenable 
to  the  law  ?" 

"  The  law  has  no  power  over  him.  He  has  satisfied  me 
with  regard  to  my  property,  and,  if  I  am  content,  it  is 
enough." 

"  Good  heavens  !  What  security  has  he  offered  you  ? 
You  are  so  inexperienced  in  such  matters,  he  will  deceive 
you  again.  Tell  me,  at  least,  what  he  has  told  you." 

Ernestine  stood  more  erect.  Agitation  almost  choked 
her  utterance,  and,  to  conceal  it,  she  put  on  a  colder,  sterner 
manner  than  usual.  "When  I  tell  you  I  am  satisfied,  it 
seems  to  me  that  should  content  you." 

"  Ernestine,"  cried  Johannes,  "  why  do  you  adopt  this 
tone  with  me  ?  I  am  acting  and  thinking  only  for  you 
and  your  interest,  and  you  treat  me  like  a  foe." 

"  For  all  that  you  have  done  and  are  doing  for  me,  I 
am  grateful  to  you,  as  also  for  your  kind  intentions.  But 
now,  I  pray  you,  leave  to  me  all  care  for  my  future  fate.  I 
feel  fully  competent  to  direct  it." 


420  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  I  tell  you,  Ernestine,  that,  whether  you  will  it  or  not, 
I  must  snatch  you  from  the  abyss  upon  whose  brink  you 
are  tottering.  And  first  I  will  make  sure  of  your  com- 
panion. He  has  not  given  me  the  securities  for  your 
property  that  I  required,  the  respite  that  I  allowed  him 
is  past,  the  twenty-four  hours  for  reflection  have  gone." 
He  turned  towards  the  door. 

"  Dr.  Mb'llner,  what  are  you  about  to  do  ?"  cried 
Ernestine. 

"Give  him  up  to  justice." 

Ernestine  placed  herself  in  his  way.  "  You  must  not 
do  that !" 

"And  why  not?" 

"  You  will  not  attempt  to  avenge  what  I  have  forgiven. 
You  will  not  so  intrude  into  my  life  as  to  make  it  impos- 
sible for  me  to  decide  whether  I  will  punish  or  forgive  a 
crime  that  aifects  me  alone.  You  are  about  to  publish 
abroad  my  affairs,  and  I  demand  for  myself  the  right  to 
regulate  my  own  private  aS'airs  as  it  may  seem  to  me 
best.  I  cannot  allow  a  stranger — yes,  I  say,  a  stranger — 
to  meddle  thus  with  the  concerns  of  two  human  beings,  as 
if  he  were  an  emissary  of  the  Hojy  Vehm  !" 

"  Ernestine  !"  gasped  Johannes. 

"  I  repeat  it,"  she  continued,  "  I  am  grateful  for  your 
kind  intentions.  But  the  best  intentions  result  in  unwel- 
come violence  when  they  would  rob  a  human  being  of 
the  right  of  free  choice.  I  insist  upon  this  most  sacred 
of  all  rights,  and  forbid  you  any  further  interference  with 
my  fate,  arid,  as  my  uncle's  lot  is  so  closely  allied  to  mine 
that  in  striking  him  you  would  harm  me,  I  hope  you  are 
sufficiently  chivalric  to  desist  from  further  persecution  of 
him."  Almost  fainting,  she  leaned  against  the  door. 

"  Fraulein  von  Hartvvich,"  replied  Johannes,  controlling 
himself  with  difficulty,  "  you  propose  a  hard  trial  for  my 
patience.  But  I  can  forgive  you,  for  you  are  a  true 
woman."  Ernestine  started  at  these  words,  but  he  en- 
treated silence  by  a  gesture.  "  You  are  a  woman,  and,  as 
such,  easily  aroused,  easily  deceived.  Your  uncle  has 
taken  advantage  of  this  fact.  You  do  not  dream  what 
you  are  doing  in  following  the  fortunes  of  this  bad  man. 
I  thought  I  had  opened  your  eyes  yesterday,  but  I  was 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  421 

mistaken.  You  saw,  but  I  did  not  teach  you  to  under- 
stand what  you  saw.  I  will  retrieve  my  error.  I  will 
explain  to  you  the  motives  for  your  uncle's  course  of  action." 

"  I  have  already  told  you,"  replied  Ernestine,  "  that  I 
know  them.  I  need  no  further  explanation.  He  has  sinned, 
grievously  sinned, — who  can  deny  it?  Not  he  himself. 
But  his  life  has  been  dedicated  to  me  with  a  devotion  rare 
enough  in  our  selfish  world.  He  has  lived  for  me  ever 
since  I  was  a  child,  and  all  his  errors  sprang  from  .the 
dread  of  losing  me.  This  is,  perhaps,  incredible  to  you, 
because  from  your  point  of  view  it  is  inconceivable  that  a 
man  should  entirely  give  himself  up  to  the  training  of  a 
woman's  mind.  To  you  a  life  spent  solely  in  intellectual 
association  with  a  woman  seems  impossible,  and  of  course 
you  would  accuse  of  falsehood  a  man  who  professes  to 
prefer  such  a  life  to  all  others.  Therefore  I  know  before- 
hand all  you  would  say,  and  would  be  spared  the  listening 
to  it  now." 

"  Ernestine,"  cried  Johannes,  fairly  roused,  "you  must 
hear  me,  or,  by  Heaven,  I  do  not  know  you  !" 

He  paused  for  one  moment.  Ernestine  looked  down,  and 
apparently  awaited  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  Yes,  then,  yes, — you  are  perfectly  right.  It  does  seem 
to  me  an  impossibility  that  a  man  should  make  it  the  sole 
aim  of  his  existence  to  develop  the  intellect,  of  a  woman. 
I  can  love  as  deeply  as  man  can  love.  You  know  that  I 
love  you,  and,  were  you  mine,  I  would  adore  you,  and  you 
only,  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul,  truly  and  unchange- 
ably, until  death  separated  us.  But,  in  my  love  for  you, 
to  forego  all  other  interests  and  duties  in  life,  to  idle  away 
in  delicious  intercourse  with  you  all  opportunities  for  true 
manly  exertion, — that  I  could  not  do,  truly  and  warmly 
as  I  love  you.  It  would  be  the  part  of  a  woman, — not  of 
a  man,  who  has  public  as  well  as  private  duties  to  fulfil.  I 
have  no  confidence  in  a  man  who  pretends  to  lead  such  a 
life  out  of  simple  affection  for  a  relative.  He  must  have 
some  other  purpose  in  view,  and  I  believe  that  your 
uncle's  purpose  in  this  matter  was  a  detestable  one,  lead- 
ing him  to  sin  against  you  in  a  way  that  God  alone  can 
justly  punish.  He  would  sacrifice  everything  for  money 
— he  would  murder  alike  body  and  soul.  Stay — be  calm 

36 


422  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

for  a  few  moments.  I  will  justify  these  terrible  accusations. 
The  theft  of  your  fortune  has  been  the  purpose  that  he 
has  kept  steadily  in  view  ever  since  he  was  your  guardian. 
The  possession  of  this  property  seems  to  have  been  the 
fixed  idea  of  his  life,  for  he  induced  your  father  at  one  time 
to  bequeath  it  to  him,  leaving  you,  notwithstanding  his 
boasted  affection  for  you,  only  what  the  law  accords  to 
you.     Heim  prevailed  upon  your  father  to  destroy  this 
will  and  to  reinstate  you  in  your  rights.     But  he  was 
not  sufficiently  prudent,  for  the  will  that  your  father  then 
dictated  left  too  much  margin  for  your  uncle's  administra- 
tion.    He  longed  to  recover  what  he  had  lost,  and  circum- 
stances favoured  his  desire.     Your  father,  in  his  will,  as 
you  can  see  from  this  copy  of  it,  stated  that  in  case  of 
your  dying  unmarried  your  entire  fortune  should  go  to 
Gleissert  or  his  children.     When  your  father  died,  mat- 
ters looked  propitious  for  Leuthold,  for  little  Ernestine 
was  such  a  frail,  sickly  child  that  he  cherished  a  hope 
almost  amounting  to  a  certainty  that  the  delicate  cord  of 
life  that  kept  him  from  his  inheritance  would  soon  break, 
and  give  him  all  that  he  coveted.      But  the  pale,  quiet 
child  confounded  his  plans  by  recovering  her  health  and 
strength.    Hers  was  a  rare  nature,  and  recuperated  quickly, 
both  physically  and  mentally.     The  hope  that  she  would 
die  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  but  he  could  not  so  easily 
relinquish  the  prospect  of  possessing  her  fortune.     If  he 
might  not  secure  the  inheritance,  he  could  at  least  secure 
the  person  of  the  heir,  and  contrive  to  keep  you,  Ernestine, 
from  marrying,  since  the  money  could  be  his  only  in  the 
event  of  yoar  dying  single.     To  this  end,  you  must  be 
secluded  from  the  world,  and,  that  you  might  not  miss  its 
amusements,  your  restless  spirit  must  be  introduced  to  a 
new  realm, — the  realm  of  the  intellect.      Therefore  he 
studiously  concealed  from  you  your  coming  of  age,  lest  it 
should  occur  to  you  to  break  the  bonds  of  the  strict  control 
to  which  you  were  subjected,  and  mingle  with  your  kind. 
This  was  the  plan  of  your  education,  this  the  reason  of 
your  uncle's  tender  solicitude  for  you.     The   time   and 
trouble  expended  upon  you  were  all  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness, a  fair  exchange  for  the  ninety  thousand  thalers  and 
the  contingent  advantages  that  he  trusted  to  obtain  there- 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  423 

by.  He  could  never  have  attained  such  a  competency  as 
a  German  professor.  This  is  criminal  legacy-hunting. 
And  now  for  my  accusation  of  murder.  I  do  not  mean 
by  it  a  murder  with  poison  or  dagger, — he  is  too  cowardly 
and  too  prudent  for  that, — but  he  made  use  of  a  poison 
which,  if  it  were  not  as  quick  in  its  effects  as  arsenic,  at 
least  possessed  this  advantage  over  it — no  chemist  could 
detect  it,  and  no  law  punish  its  use.  The  body  was  to  be 
destroyed  through  the  mind.  He  knew  how  to  foster  in 
your  passionate  heart  an  ambition  that  dreaded  no  labour, 
that,  in  its  burning  desire  to  attain  its  ends,  pursued  them 
with  a  feverish  haste  that  never  heeded  whether  the 
physical  frame  were  equal  or  not  to  such  unceasing  exer- 
tion. Oh,  the  plan  was  ingenious,  but  there  were  eyes, 
thank  God!  that  saw  through  it.  It  is  true  he  did  not 
stand  at  your  back  with  a  rod,  like  a  severe  schoolmaster, 
to  urge  you  on, — he  did  not  compel  you  to  work  all 
night  long,  denying  yourself  the  only  refreshment  that 
could  strengthen  your  shattered  nerves, — sleep, — but  he 
contrived  that  you  should  do  all  this  voluntarily.  He  saw 
you  droop,  and  took  no  notice  of  it.  He  would  not  kill 
you  with  his  own  hand,  but  he  put  into  yours  the  poison 
with  which  you  should  do  it  yourself,  and,  when  the 
natural  love  of  life  in  you  spoke  out  and  entreated  aid, 
he  forbade  you  to  summon  a  physician,  lest  he  should  save 
you  by  an  antidote !  Thus,  consciously  and  voluntarily, 
he  has  let  you  sicken  and  languish,  and  now  he  would 
carry  you  to  America  to  bury  you  there.  So  much  for 
the  grounds  of  my  accusation  of  physical  murder. 
And  now  as  to  his  murder  of  your  soul.  I  said  before 
that  your  uncle  had  secluded  you  from  the  world  to  make 
sure  of  your  never  marrying.  How  could  he  do  this  ? 
By  making  you  an  object  of  aversion  to  society  at  large 
— by  hardening  your  heart,  so  that  you  might  never  feel 
the  desire  for  loving  intercourse  and  companionship  stir- 
ring within  you.  He  accomplished  these  ends  by  making 
you  a  skeptic.  And  were  this  the  only  crime  that  he 
is  guilty  of  towards  you,  it  would  justify  any  punish- 
ment, however  severe,  —  any  contempt,  however  pro- 
found." 

"  If  this  is  all  that  you  have  to  say,  I  can  only  reply  that 


424  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

you  talk  like  a  theologian,  not  like  a  physiologist,"  said 
Ernestine,  vainly  endeavouring  to  conceal  her  horror.  "  It 
is  possible  that  there  is  some  foundation  for  your  other 
accusations  of  Doctor  Gleissert, — I  will  not  decide  upon 
them  at  present, — but  for  this  last  there  is  none,  or,  at 
least,  none  in  the  degree  that  you  mean.  Yes,  he  did  take 
from  me  my  faith,  but  in  its  place  he  gave  me  that  phi- 
losophy which  is  the  resting-place  of  all  thought,  and 
wherein  alone  the  doubting  spirit  can  find  peace." 

"  Oh,  what  a  miserable  mistake  !"  cried  Johannes.  "  Do 
you  suppose  that  anything  can  take  the  place  of  faith  in 
the  world  ?  Can  a  soul  as  lofty  as  your  own  be  content 
with  the  mere  knowledge  of  the  laws  that  rule  the  uni- 
verse, without  raising  reverential  eyes  to  the  Power 
whom  those  laws  represent?  Forgive  me  if  I  talk  like  a 
theologian.  Let  me  be  clear  with  you  upon  this  point 
too,  before  we  part.  I  would  at  least  restore  to  you  one 
possession  of  which  your  uncle  has  robbed  you,  and  that 
belongs  to  women  in  an  eminent  degree,  far  more  than 
to  men, — the  power  of  seeing  heaven  open  when  the 
earth  does  not  suffice  us  !" 

Ernestine  gazed  at  him  in  utter  amazement.  "  Do  you 
speak  thus,  you,  a  man  of  exact  science, — a  science  that 
teaches  how  everything  in  existence  is  developed  from 
itself!  What  is  left  for  us  to  reverence  in  the  God  whom 
you  would  seem  to  declare,  after  we  have  learned  that 
nature  of  itself  alone  creates  and  achieves  everything?" 

Johannes  shook  his  head.  "  Oh,  Ernestine,  can  we  be- 
lieve in  Him  only  by  believing  that  his  Spirit  hovered 
over  the  face  of  the  waters  and  created  the  heavens  and 
the  earth  in  six  days  ?  I  think  we  have  learned  to 
separate  this  gross  material  representation  from  the 
actual  being  of  God  !  Thus  only  can  faith  and  knowl- 
edge join  hands,  and  I  am  one  of  those  in  whose  minds 
they  have  thus  formed  an  alliance,  although  perhaps  not 
without  a  struggle.  I  can  give  my  belief  no  concrete 
shape,  I  have  not  the  simplicity  that  is  satisfied  with  a 
Deity  compounded  of  human  attributes  and  powers,  but 
the  fervent  aspiration  that  looks  up  and  holds  fast  to  my 
formless  God, — this  aspiration  is  my  rock  of  safety." 

"  That  is  only  a  subjective  emotion.  What  does  it 
prove  ?" 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  425 

"  Nothing  !"  said  Johannes.  "  For  the  existence  of  a 
God  can  be  as  little  proved  as  disproved.  I  might 
say  He  is  to  the  world  what  the  soul  is  to  the  body, 
and  we  cannot  give  form  to  the  soul  in  our  minds.  The 
organs  of  the  body  work  in  obedience  to  unchangeable 
laws,  but,  although  they  thus  work,  they  are  under  the 
control  of  the  soul,  and,  although  we  can  explain  never 
so  exactly  the  mechanism  that  the  soul  puts  in  motion 
at  its  good  pleasure,  we  cannot  explain  how  it  thinks 
and  desires.  Are  we  therefore  to  deny  that  it  does  think 
and  desire  ?  But  I  know  what  little  value  will  attach  to 
such  comparisons  in  your  eyes,  for  you  will  demand  logi- 
cal proof  of  the  truth  of  my  parallel,  and  this  I  cannot 
give  you." 

Ernestine  was  lost  in  thought.  "  I  never  should  have 
conceived  it  possible  that  such  a  man  as  you  are  could 
believe  in  the  existence  of  a  God  1" 

"  If  you  will  listen,  I  will  tell  you  how  faith  first  en- 
tered into  my  heart.  I  was  a  wayward  lad,  just  emanci- 
pated from  the  ignorant  illusions  of  childhood,  with  a 
living  desire  for  the  Infinite  in  my  heart, — longing  to 
prove  scientifically  the  existence  of  the  God  in  whom  I 
no  longer  believed.  In  my  ignorance  of  myself,  I 
naturally  fell  into  the  way  of  that  spurious  philoso- 
phy which  the  science  of  to-day  looks  back  upon  with 
contempt,  and— to  use  Du  Bois'  words  —  racked  my 
brain  for  awhile  over  the  riddle  of  Being,  human  and 
divine.  My  affections  were  warm, — I  loved  those  be- 
longing to  me,  and  especially  my  little  sister  Angelika. 
One  day  the  child  was  taken  dangerously  ill,  and,  as 
she  was  more  devoted  to  me  than  to  any  other  mem- 
ber of  the  family,  I  watched  with  her  through  long 
nights  with  fraternal  tenderness.  The  child  suffered 
greatly,  and  one  night  in  particular  her  cries  fairly  broke 
my  heart.  My  mother  at  last  took  her  little  hands  in  her 
own,  clasped  them,  and  said,  '  Pray,  my  darling, — pray 
to  God.  He  may  grant  your  prayer !'  And  the  child, 
suppressing  her  sobs,  cried,  '  Ah,  dear  God,  take  away 
my  pain  !'  And  I — I  flung  myself  upon  my  knees  and 
prayed  fervently,  I  knew  not  what, — I  knew  not  to  whom, 
— no  matter !  I  prayed.  I  heard  my  mother's  voice  say 

36* 


426  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Amen,  and  I  repeated  Amen, — almost  unconsciously. 
The  child  was  soothed,  grew  calm,  looked  up  to  heaven 
with  childlike  trust,  then  smiled  upon  us  and  went  to  sleep 
with  her  head  upon  my  breast, — her  first  sound  sleep  after 
a  week  of  suffering.  I  listened  to  her  breathing,  it  was 
soft  and  regular.  I  was  filled  then  with  an  emotion  such  as 
I  had  never  before  experienced, — tears  came  to  my  eyes. 
I  could  have  embraced  the  world  in  my  delight, — no,  a 
world  would  not  suffice  me,  I  needed  a  God  beside. 
What  shall  I  say, — how  explain  it  in  words  ?  Like  the 
girl  born  blind,  in  the  poem,  that  believed  she  saw  when 
she  loved,  I  loved  the  God  to  whom  I  had  prayed,  and 
because  I  loved  Him  I  saw  Him  with  my  heart!" 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  Ernestine,  who  had  listened 
with  S}7inpathy. 

"  That  is  the  very  essence  of  faith,"  he  continued.  "No 
reason  can  give  it  to  you  or  take  it  from  you.  One  single 
agonized  moment  taught  me  what  science  and  philosophy 
had  failed  to  teach.  I  found  by  the  bedside  of  a  child 
the  God  for  whom  my  intellect  had  vainly  searched  earth 
and  skies.  From  this  time  I  learned  to  keep  myself 
open  to  conviction.  I  now  first  became  an  exact  phys- 
iologist. I  no  longer  set  fantastic  bounds  to  science,  I 
no  longer  adulterated  my  pure  contemplation  of  nature 
with  metaphysical  notions,  but  confined  myself  strictly 
to  the  actual,  and  it  never  conflicted  with  my  feelings, 
for  Science  itself  pauses  before  the  first  cause  of  all  Being, 
and  says,  'Thus  far,  and  no  farther,'  and  here,  where  my 
knowledge  ceases,  my  faith  begins  !" 

"  You  speak  well,  but  you  do  not  convince  me,"  said 
Ernestine  sadly. 

"  I  see.  I  know  that  the  remedy  for  your  disease  does 
not  lie  in  the  words  or  the  example  of  others,  but  in  your 
own  experience.  I  prophesy,  if  you  are  ever  overwhelmed 
by  a  moment  of  despair,  that  you  will  waken  to  the  need 
of  that  God  whom  you  now  ignore.  Even  were  it  not 
to  be  so,  I  could  only  pity  you,  for  a  woman  who  cannot 
pray  is  a  bird  with  broken  wings.  I  maintain  that 
there  is  no  woman  who  does  not  believe, — for  there  is 
none  who  does  not  fear,  and  fear  looks  in  reverence  to 
God,  whether  as  avenging  justice  or  protecting  love,  to 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  427 

which  to  flee  when  all  other  aid  fails.     Can  you  be  the 
sole  exception  to  this  rule  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Ernestine  proudly.  "  I  am  not  one 
of  those  weaklings  who  dread  danger  in  the  dark.  I 
look  every  phantom  of  terror  boldly  in  the  face,  and  can 
recognize  its  natural  origin.  I  fear  nothing,  and  have  no 
need  of  a  God." 

"  You  fear  nothing?"  asked  Johannes,  and  then,  struck 
by  a  sudden  thought,  added,  "  Not  even  death  ?" 

"Not  even  death!  I  know  that  I  am  but  a  part  of 
universal  matter,  and  must  return  to  it  again.  What  is 
there  to  fear?  The  dissolution  of  a  personal  existence  in 
the  great  sum  of  things, — the  transformation  of  one  sub- 
stance into  another?  Since  I  learned  to  think,  I  have 
constantly  pondered  this  great  law  of  nature,  and  have 
accustomed  myself  to  consider  my  insignificant  existence 
only  as  part  and  parcel  of  the  wondrous  transmutation 
of  matter  perpetually  taking  place  in  the  universe.  Only 
when  we  have  attained  this  conviction  can  we  smilingly 
renounce  our  vain  claim  to  individual  immortality,  and 
see  in  death  the  due  tribute  that  we  pay  to  nature  for  our 
life." 

"  Indeed  ?  And  you  imagine  that  this  consolation  will 
stand  you  in  stead  when  the  time  really  comes  for  you  to 
descend  into  that  dark  abyss  which  is  illuminated  for  you 
by  no  ray  of  faith  or  hope  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"And  if  you  were  plunged  into  it  before  the  appointed 
time?" 

"  I  should  not  quarrel  with  the  measure  of  existence 
that  nature  accorded  me." 

"  You  would  not,  however,  curtail  that  existence  inten- 
tionally ?" 

Ernestine  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "No,  assuredly 
not." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  of  doing  so  by  going  to  America  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  fear  it  ? — on  account  of  the  dangers  of 
the  sea,  perhaps?  Oh,  no.  It  has  borne  millions  of  lives 
in  safety  upon  its  waves, — why  not  mine  also  ?  It  will 
be  more  merciful  than  my  kind,  I  think." 


428  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"Then  you  are  still  determined  to  go,  after  all  that  I 
have  told  you  of  your  uncle  ?" 

"  With  him  or  without  him,  I  shall  go,"  said  Ernestine. 

"  Well,  then,  God  is  my  witness  that  I  have  tried  my 
best !  Now, — you  will  think  me  cruel,  but  I  cannot 
help  it, — one  remedy  still  is  left  me, — a  terrible  one,  but 
your  proud  courage  gives  me  strength  to  use  it.  Ernes- 
tine, if  you  persist  in  your  determination  to  undertake 
this  voyage,  I  fear  the  time  is  close  at  hand  when  the 
genuineness  of  your  philosophical  consolation  will  be 
tried  indeed.  You  will  hardly  live  to  reach  New  York." 

Ernestine  grew,  if  possible,  paler  than  before  at  these 
words.  "What  reason  have  you  to  say  so?"  she  fal- 
tered. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  for  there  is  no  time  left  for  conceal- 
ment." He  looked  at  the  clock.  "  I  cannot  understand 
how,  with  your  understanding  and  the  knowledge  that 
-you  possess,  you  should  fail  to  see  that  you  are  ill, — not 
only  nervous  and  prostrated,  but  seriously  ill." 

Ernestine  looked  at  him  in  alarm. 

"  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  you  are  lost  if  you  con- 
tinue your  present  mode  of  life,  as  you  will  and  must  in 
America.  Notwithstanding  all  your  uncle  may  have  told 
you,  I  know  that,  once  in  New  York,  you  will  have  no 
chance  of  recovering  from  him  one  thaler  of  your  fortune, 
even  supposing  that,  in  accordance  with  your  wishes,  I 
allow  him  to  leave  this  country.  You  will  be  forced  to 
earn  your  daily  support,  and,  I  tell  you  truly,  your  life, 
under  such  conditions,  will  not  last  one  year.  You  will 
die  in  your  bloom  in  an  American  hospital,  and  be  buried 
in  a  nameless  gravel" 

Ernestine  turned  away. 

"Are  you  still  determined  to  go?"  Johannes  asked 
after  a  pause. 

Ernestine  pondered  for  one  moment  of  bitter  agony. 
She  knew  only  too  well  that  he  was  right.  But  what 
should  she  do?  He  had  no  idea  that  her  fortune  was 
actually  lost, — that  she  would  be  forced  to  earn  her  bread 
if  she  stayed  as  surely  as  if  she  went, — that  she  must 
labour  incessantly,  if  she  would  not  be  a  dependent 
beggar.  Think  and  reflect  as  she  might,  she  saw 


OR  A   niYSIClAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  429 

nothing  before  her  but  death  in  a  hospital !  And  she 
would  far  rather  perish  in  a  foreign  land  than  here,  where 
all  knew  her,  and  where  all  would  triumph  over  her 
downfall,  that  they  had  prophesied  so  often.  No !  she 
must  fly!  Like  the  dying  bird  in  winter,  hiding  himself 
in  his  death-agony  from  every  eye,  she  would  conceal,  in 
a  distant  quarter  of  the  globe,  her  poverty,  her  degrada- 
tion and  disgrace,  from  the  arrogant  man  of  whom  she 
had  been  so  haughtily  independent  in  the  day  of  her 
prosperity. 

At  last  she  raised  her  head,  and,  with  a  great  effort, 
said,  "There  is  no  choice  left  me.  I  must  fulfil  my  con- 
tract,— I  must  go  to  America!" 

Johannes  had  awaited  her  decision  with  breathless 
eagerness.  He  lost  almost  entirely  his  hardly-won  self- 
control.  "Ernestine,"  he  exclaimed,  seizing  both  her 
hands,  "  Ernestine,  I  plead  for  life  and  death.  Do  you  not 
hear  ? — I  tell  you  there  is  no  hope  for  you  but  in  absolute 
repose.  Will  you  voluntarily  hurry  into  the  grave  yawn- 
ing at  your  feet?  I  have  watched  you  with  the  eyes  of 
a  physician  and  a  lover,  and  I  swear  to  you,  by  my 
honour,  that  I  have  been  continually  discovering  fresh 
cause  for  anxiety.  You  look  as  if  you  were  in  a  decline 
at  this  moment.  You  have  the  feeble,  capricious  pulse 
and  the  cold  hands  of  a  victim  of  disease  of  the  heart. 
Yesterday  I  heard  from  Fran  Willmers  of  symptoms 
that  filled  me  with  alarm  for  you, — I  grasp  at  the  hope  that 
they  may  be  only  the  effects  of  your  unnaturally  forced 
manner  of  life.  But  these  effects  may  become  causes,  in 
your  present  exhausted  condition,  causes  of  mortal  disease, 
if  you  do  not  spare  yourself.  I  cannot,  in  duty  or  con- 
science, let  you  go  withuut,  hard  as  it  is,  enlightening  you 
with  regard  to  your  physical  condition.  1  would  have 
spared  you  the  cruel  truth,  but  your  determined  obstinacy 
extorts  it  from  me.  Have  some  compassion  upon  me,  and 
do  not  go  before  you  have  seen  Heim.  He  is  a  man  of 
experience,  let  him  judge  whether  I  am  right  or  not.  I 
entreat  you  to  see  him.  Do,  Ernestine,  do,  for  my  sake,  if 
you  would  not  leave  me  plunged  in  the  depths  of  despair." 

Still  he  held  her  hands  firmly  clasped  in  his.  His 
chest  heaved,  his  cheeks  were  flushed  with  emotion.  All 


430  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

the  strength  of  his  passionate  affection  for  her  seethed 
and  glowed  in  his  imperious  and  imploring  entreaties. 

Ernestine  stood  pale  and  calm  before  him.  No  human 
eye  could  divine  her  thoughts. 

Whilst  they  stood  thus  silently  gazing  into  each  other's 
eyes,  there  was  a  sound  as  of  a  carriage  driving  from 
the  door  below.  Johannes,  in  his  agitation,  never  heard 
it.  Ernestine  thought  it  was  possibly  her  uncle,  but  she 
did  not  care.  She  had  suddenly  grown  strangely  indif- 
ferent to  everything  in  the  world. 

"  Ernestine,  have  you  no  answer  for  me  ?"  asked  Jo- 
hannes. 

"  I  will — reflect — until  to-morrow." 

"  Thank  God  1"  burst  from  the  depths  of  Johannes' 
heart.  As  he  dropped  Ernestine's  hands,  he  fairly  stag- 
gered with  exhaustion. 

Again  a  few  moments  passed  in  gloomy  silence. 

"  Ernestine,"  he  then  said,  "  you  have  in  this  last  hour 
punished  an  innocent  man  for  all  the  sins  of  his  sex.  Let 
it  suffice  you — indeed  you  are  avenged." 

Ernestine  did  not  speak. 

Johannes  continued.  "  I  will  intrude  no  longer.  May 
I  come  with  Heim  to-morrow  ?" 

"  You  shall  learn  my  decision  to-morrow." 

"Your  hand  upon  it.     No  ?     Then  farewell!" 

Ernestine  was  alone.  She  stood  motionless  for  awhile, 
never  thinking  of  Johannes,  nor  of  her  uncle,  who, 
strangely  enough,  did  not  appear,  but  with  one  sentence 
ringing  in  her  ears, — "  Your  pulse  is  that  of  a  victim  to 
disease  of  the  heart."  Those  words  had  stung  like  a 
scorpion.  There  was  no  doubt,  then,  that  Johannes  con- 
sidered her  past  all  hope  of  recovering, — he  had  plainly 
intimated  as  much,  although  he  had  refrained  from  bluntly 
telling  her  so.  But  was  Dr.  Mollner  capable  of  forming 
a  correct  judgment  in  her  case  ?  Yes,  certainly,  both  as 
physiologist  and  physician,  he  was  thoroughly  able  to 
form  a  just  diagnosis.  She  did  not  understand  how  she 
could  so  long  have  ignored  the  signs  in  herself  of  physical 
decline.  He  was  right, — her  uncle  was  her  murderer. 
She  shuddered  at  the  thought.  How  near  death  seemed  to 
her  now  !  She  thought,  and  thought  called  to  ro'nd 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  431 

every  peculiar  sensation  that  she  had  lately  been  con- 
scious of,  weighed  the  evidence,  and  drew  conclusions. 

It  was  remarkable  how  everything  betokened  trouble 
with  her  heart.  Johannes  wished  to  consult  Heim.  He 
would  not  have  done  that,  had  he  not  thought  her  dan- 
gerously ill.  What  could  he  or  Heiin  tell  her  that  she 
did  not  know  herself?  Had  he  any  means  of  obtain- 
ing knowledge  that  were  not  hers  also  ?  Had  she  not 
a  pathological  library,  filled  with  all  that  a  physician 
needed, — the  same  that  she  had  destined  for  Walter,  but 
had  not  yet  sent  to  him  ?  She  would  consult  it  and  know 
the  truth  that  very  day. 

Night  had  fallen — the  rain  was  dripping  outside — the 
room  lay  in  dreary  shadow.  She  rang  for  lights.  Frau 
Willmers  brought  a  study-lamp  with  a  green  shade,  and 
left  her  alone  again. 

Ernestine  placed  a  small  library-ladder  against  one  of 
the  tall,  heavily-carved  bookcases,  and  mounted  it,  with 
the  lamp  in  her  hand.  She  took  out  one  book  after 
another,  without  finding  the  one  for  which  she  was  search- 
ing. Impatiently  she  rummaged  among  the  dusty  folios, 
that  had  not  been  touched  for  months.  At  last,  by  the 
dim  light  of  her  lamp,  she  saw  the  title  that  she  was 
looking  for,  but  it  was  beneath  a  pile  of  books  hastily 
heaped  above  it.  She  dragged  it  out  with  feverish  im- 
patience The  volumes  tumbled  about,  some  hard,  heavy 
object,  lying  among  them,  fell  upon  her  head,  almost 
stunning  her,  and  then  shattered  the  lamp  in  her  hand, 
falling  afterwards  upon  the  floor  with  a  dull  noise  amidst 
the  broken  glass  that  accompanied  it.  Ernestine,  her 
book  under  her  arm,  got  down  from  the  ladder  with 
trembling  knees,  to  see,  by  the  expiring  flame  of  the 
wick  of  the  lamp,  what  it  was  that  had  caused  the  mis- 
chief. As  she  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  a  fleshless,  grinning 
face  stared  into  her  own.  She  started  back  with  a  cry. 
It  was  one  of  the  skulls  that  she  had  put  away  in  the 
library  and  long  forgotten.  The  dim  light  of  the  lamp 
died  out,  but  through  the  darkness  the  white  jaws  still 
grinned  horribly.  Almost  insane  with  horror,  she  called 
ngain  for  lights.  To  her  overwrought  nerves,  the  trifling 
accident  was  in  strange  harmony  with  the  thoughts  that 


432  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

were  tormenting  her.    It  was  as  if  nature  thus  gave  her 
ominous  warning  of  her  fate. 

When  lights  were  brought,  she  forced  herself  to  look 
the  hateful  thing  in  the  face  again.  She  picked  up  the  head 
by  its  empty  eye-sockets.  "  Thus  shall  I  shortly  look, — no 
fairer  than  this  horror  !"  And  she  went  up  to  a  mirror, 
and,  in  a  kind  of  bravado,  compared  her  own  head  with 
the  fleshless  thing.  "  You  must  learn  to  recognize  the 
family  likeness,"  she  said  to  her  own  reflection,  and  in 
feverish  fancy  she  began  to  analyze  her  own  fair,  noble 
features  and  imagine  all  the  changes  that  they  must  pass 
through  before  their  resemblance  to  their  mute,  bleached 
companion  should  be  complete.  Disgust  and  dread  mas- 
tered her  again,  and  she  feared  her  own  reflection  in  the 
mirror  as  much  as  the  skull.  She  threw  it  from  her,  and 
then  started  at  the  noise  it  made  as  it  fell  into  the  corner 
of  the  room.  The  blood  rushed  to  her  head,  and  she 
was  deafened  by  the  whirr  and  singing  in  her  ears,  al- 
though, through  it  all,  she  seemed  to  hear  something,  she 
knew  not  what,  that  she  could  not  comprehend,  and 
that  increased  her  terror  The  death's-head  in  the  cor- 
ner would  not — so  it  seemed  to  her — keep  quiet ;  it  was 
rolling  about  there.  She  could  not  stay  in  the  room, — 
there  was  something  evil  in  the  air.  She  took  the  book 
that  she  had  found,  and  the  candle,  and  fled  like  a  hunted 
deer  to  her  own  apartment,  never  looking  around  her  in 
the  desolate  rooms,  in  fear  lest  the  formless  thing  that  so 
filled  her  with  dread  should  take  visible  shape  and  stare 
at  her  from  some  dim  recess.  But  it  followed  at  her 
heels,  dogging  her  footsteps,  surrounding  her  like  an  at- 
mosphere, and  with  its  hundred  arms  so  oppressing  her 
chest  and  throat,  even  in  the  quiet  of  her  own  room, 
that  it  scarcely  left  space  for  her  heart  to  beat.  How 
strangely  it  did  beat, — so  irregularly  !  now  faint,  now 
strong,  as  only  a  diseased  heart  can  beat !  A  nd  she  opened 
the  book  and  read  her  doom, — read  the  pages  devoted  to 
diseases  of  the  heart,  hastily,  feverishly,  with  little  com- 
prehension of  their  meaning,  for  by  this  time  thought 
was  merged  in  fear,  and  of  course  she  gave  the  words 
a  meaning  they  did  not  possess,  in  dread  of  finding 
what  she  wanted  to  know  and  yet  greedily  searching 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  433 

for  it.  Yes,  it  was  just  as  she  feared.  Not  a  symptom 
here  described  that  she  had  not  felt.  Now  it  was  be- 
yond all  doubt,  she  was  lost, — no  cure  was  possible, — 
only  delay,  and  even  that,  in  her  present  state  of  weak- 
ness, was  hardly  to  be  hoped.  She  tossed  the  book  aside, 
and  went  to  the  window  for  air.  Damp  with  rain  and 
close  as  it  was,  still  it  was  air, — freer  and  purer  than 
any  that  she  would  have  in  her  coffin.  Then,  to  be  sure, 
she  would  need  it  no  more,  but  it  was  still  delightful  to 
breathe,  and  the  thought  of  lying  beneath  that  close 
coffin-lid  was  suffocation  ! 

And  she  was  to  die  soon!  Johannes  had  not  been  mis- 
taken. It  was  true.  And  her  strength  had  been  failing 
for  a  long  time.  What  was  she  afraid  of?  What  was 
there  to  fear  ?  The  pain  that  she  might  suffer  ?  Thou- 
sands had  suffered  the  same  agony,  and  the  hour  of  her  re- 
lease was  perhaps  closer  at  hand  than  she  thought.  Then 
she  would  be  strong, — this  hope  should  sustain  her. 
She  would  not  falsify,  even  to  herself,  the  declaration  that 
she  had  made  to  Johannes  scarcely  an  hour  before.  Fear  ? 
What?  Annihilation, — to  cease  to  be, — it  was  not 
cheering,  and  certainly  not  sad, — it  was  simply  nothing! 
It  was  not  annihilation  that  she  feared,  but  a  continua- 
tion of  existence  that  might  be  worse  than  death, — the 
uncertainty  whether  the  soul  perished  with  the  body. 
"  True,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  if  our  eyes  are  blinded 
they  are  not  conscious  of  light,  our  closed  ears  cannot 
hear.  Let  this  physical  mechanism,  that  is  our  means  of 
communication  with  the  exterior  world,  pause  in  its  work- 
ing, and  communication  ceases.  But  suppose  thought 
should  be  independent  of  this  mechanism?  Oh!  horrible, 
horrible  !  why  is  there  no  proof  that  it  cannot  be  so  ? 
What  if  memory  lives  on  and  there  are  no  eyes  for  seeing, 
and  of  course  no  light, — no  ears  for  hearing,  and  no  sound, 
no  body  sensitive  to  touch,  no  time  or  space, — nothing 
but  eternal  night,  eternal  silence,  only  informed  by  the 
memory  of  what  we  have  seen  and  heard,  and  the  long- 
ing for  light,  sound,  and  feeling?" 

This  was  the  worst  of  all, — more  dreadful  than  per- 
sonal annihilation  ;  this  was  what  she  feared.  Eternal 
night,  eternal  silence,  and  eternal  solitude !  Whose  blood 

37 


434  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

would  not  curdle  at  the  thought,  except  theirs,  per- 
haps, who  were  weary  and  worn  with  existence,  or 
who,  looking  back  upon  life's  long  labour  well  per- 
formed, needed  not  shun  an  eternity  of  remembrance  ? 
But  she  ?  She  was  not  weary  of  the  world,  she 
had  not  yet  begun  to  enjoy  it, — she  was  not  old,  she 
was  just  beginning  to  live.  She  had  done  nothing  to- 
wards fulfilling  her  high  purposes,  nothing  that  she 
could  look  back  upon  with  satisfaction.  It  was  too  soon, — 
if  she  must  go  now,  she  had  nothing  to  look  forward  to 
but  an  eternity  of  remorse  1  And  how  long  must  she  en- 
dure this  dread  before  the  horrible  certainty  came  upon 
her?  "Oh,  cruel  death!"  she  moaned,  "to  assail  me 
thus  insidiously  in  his  most  horrid  shape, — of  slow,  lan- 
guishing disease!  If  he  would  only  attack  me  liko  an 
assassin,  that  I  might  do  battle  with  him, — meet  me  in 
the  shape  of  some  falling  fragment  of  rock  that  I  might 
try  to  avoid,  or  in  engulfing  waves  that  I  could  breast 
and  strive  against, — it  would  be  kinder  than  to  steal  upon 
me  thus,  invisible,  impalpable,  inevitable !  Let  me  flee 
across  the  ocean  to  the  farthest  ends  of  the  earth,  1  can- 
not escape  him,  I  take  him  with  me !  Let  me  mount  the 
swiftest  steed  and  be  borne  wildly  over  hill  and  valley, 
I  cannot  escape  him,  he  will  ride  with  me  !  Let  mo  climb 
the  loftiest  Alps, — in  vain!  in  vain!  He  nestles  within 
me."  She  fell  upon  her  knees.  "  Oh,  omnipotent  nature, 
cruel  mother  who  refusest  me  your  bounteous  nourish- 
ment, have  compassion  upon  me,  and  save  your  child, — 
do  not  give  my  thought,  my  life,  to  annihilation,  and  its 
garment  to  decay !  Millions  breathe  and  prosper  who 
are  not  worthy  of  your  blessings, — will  you  thrust  out 
me,  your  priestess,  from  your  grace?"  And  she  lay  pros- 
trate, wringing  her  hands,  as  if  awaiting  an  answer  to 
her  entreaty.  All  around  her  was  silent.  There  was  no 
pity  for  her.  She  bethought  herself,  "  Oh,  nature  is  im- 
placable, why  should  I  pray  to  her?  she  does  not  hear, 
she  does  not  think  or  feel,  but  sweeps  me  from  her  path 
in  the  blind  despotism  of  her  eternal  mechanism.  Is  there 
no  hand  to  aid  ?  no  judge  of  the  worth  of  an  existence, 
to  say,  'Thou  art  worthy  to  live,  therefore  live  ?'  There 
is,  there  is!  By  the  agony  of  this  hour,  I  know  there 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  435 

must  be  a  higher  justice,  a  Divinity  other  than  nature. 
The  spirit  that  now  in  dread  of  death  wrestles  with  na- 
ture must  have  another  refuge,  a  loftier  destiny  than 
the  life  of  this  world  !''  She'clasped  her  hands  upon  her 
breast.  "  Oh,  Faith  !  Faith !  and  if  it  be  so, — if  there  be  a 
God,  what  claim  can  I  have  upon  His  pity  ?  Could  my 
vaiu  pride  sustain  me  before  such  a  judge?  What  have  I 
done  to  make  me  worthy  of  His  compassion  ?  Have  I 
been  of  any  use  in  the  world, — conferred  happiness  upon 
a  single  humau  being,  formed  one  tie  pleasant  to  con- 
template ?  Have  I  not  all  my  life  long  denied  His  exist- 
ence, and  now,  like  a  coward,  do  I  fly  to  Him  for  succour  ? 
Can  I  expect  aid,  and  dare  to  raise  my  eyes  to  heaven 
and  seek  there  what  the  earth  denies  me  ?  No !  I  will 
not  deceive  myself;  there  is  no  pity  for  me, — none  in 
nature,  none  in.  mankind,  none  in  God  I" 

And  Faith  overwhelmed  her  with  its  terrors,  for  only 
to  the  loving  heart  is  Faith  revealed  as  Love.  To  those 
who  have  shunned  and  denied  it,  it  comes  like  an  aveng- 
ing blast.  It  bore  her  poor  diseased  mind  away  upon  its 
wings  like  a  withered  leaf  from  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
'and  tossed  it  down  into  the  night  of  despair. 

A  cry,  "Johannes,  come!  save  me!"  burst  from  Er- 
nestine's lips,  and,  in  a  vain  effort  to  reach  the  door, 
she  fell  senseless  upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SENTENCED. 

LEUTHOLD  had  listened  to  the  conversation  between 
Johannes  and  Ernestine  until  it  reached  the  point  where 
lie  saw  that  Johannes  would  prevail.  Several  times  he 
wondered  whether  it  might  not  be"  best  to  break  in  upon 
them  and  try  to  give  their  interview  another  colour, 
but  he  reflected  that  the  attempt  would  be  useless  with 
a  man  of  Mollner's  determination,  and  that  he  should 
only  be  forced  to  listen  to  fresh  accusations.  Then  he  de- 


436  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

vised  another  plan,  and  determined  to  make  use  of  the 
opportunity  to  effect  his  own  escape.  Convinced  now 
that  his  game  was  lost,  he  gathered  together  the  contents 
of  his  strong  box,  and  wrote  a  few  lines  to  Ernestine  that 
might  be  found  upon  his  writing-table  when  his  absence 
was  discovered.  They  ran  thus : 

"I  have  listened  to  your  conversation,  and  have  heard 
the  unfortunate  turn  for  me  that  it  has  taken.  I  can  no 
longer  cherish  any  hope,  and  all  that  I  can  do  is  to  outwit 
this  fellow  and  escape  while  he  is  with  you.  I  take  with 
me  whatever  of  money  there  is  in  the  house,  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  my  journey.  I  cannot  wait  until  Moll  nor 
has  gone,  to  ask  you  for  it,  for  he  would  stand  guard  at 
the  door  again,  and  I  should  never  escape  from  his 
clutches.  My  life,  and  my  child's  future  existence,  are  at 
stake.  I  cannot  delay.  If  you  should  still  decide  to 
leave  with  me  to-day,  you  will  find  me  at  the  railroad- 
station.  There  are  still  two  hours  before  the  departure 
of  the  train.  If  you  remain,  I  will  send  you  the  money 
for  the  journey  as  soon  as  I  can.  Farewell,  and,  I  hope, 
au  revoir." 

Having  written  these  lines,  he  slipped  out  to  the  sta- 
bles, had  the  horses  put  into  the  carriage,  and  drove  to 
the  station.  In  two  hours  his  fate  would  be  decided ! 
Once  off  in  the  train,  and  he  was  safe  ! 

The  time  spent  by  Ernestine  in  mortal  struggle  with 
her  doubts  and  reawakening  faith  was  no  less  a  time  of 
torture  to  him  who  was  the  cause  of  all  her  woe.  Any 
one  who  has  waited  a  couple  of  hours  for  the  arrival  of 
a  railroad-train  at  some  insignificant  station  knows  the 
meaning  of  the  word  "patience."  To  stand  about  upon 
a  desolate  platform,  stamping  your  feet  to  keep  them 
warm,  now  peering  forward  to  look  along  the  endless 
level  road,  in  hopes  of  discovering  the  red  spark  in  the 
distance,  then  walking  up  and  down  the  narrow  spncc 
again,  and  interrogating  the  sleepy  superintendent  as  often 
as  you  think  his  patience  will  permit,  as  to  whether  the 
train  will  not  soon  arrive,  and  always  hearing  the  same 
answer,  "It  will  soon  be  here  now," — an  assertion  which 
the  official  himself  does  not  believe, — then,  for  a  change,  to 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  437 

wander  into  the  dreary  refreshment-room,  with  its  eternal 
leathery  sandwiches  and  its  faded  waiter-girls,  who  re- 
gard you  with  such  an  offensive  want  of  interest  because 
you  are  not  sufficiently  exhausted  by  a  long  journey 
to  be  brought  down  to  the  point  of  purchasing  any 
of  their  stale  provisions, — to  look  at  the  clock  every  ten 
minutes,  under  the  full  conviction  that  at  least  half  an 
hour  must  have  elapsed  since  you  looked  last, — and 
finally,  when,  stupefied  with  fatigue  and  dully  resigned  to 
waiting,  you  have  sunk  upon  a  seat,  to  be  roused  with 
a  start  by  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  locomotive,  causing 
you  hastily  to  collect  your  seven  bundles  and  rush  out, 
only  to  be  stopped  by  the  station-porter,  because  this  is 
not  the  train  you  want,  but  one  that  passes  before  your 
train, — all  these  are  the  miseries  of  human  life  at  a  rail- 
road-station that  every  one  is  familiar  with.  But  for  him 
who  is  waiting  for  the  iron  steed  to  save  him  from  pursuit 
and  death,  they  become  the  most  terrible  tortures  that 
malicious  demons  can  devise. 

Leuthold  experienced  them  to  the  utmost,  with  the 
added  anxiety  of  watching  in  two  different  directions, 
— in  that  whence  the  train  was  to  approach,  and  in  that 
whence  he  himself  had  come,  and  where  the  avenger 
might  now  be  upon  his  track.  Thus  he  passed  two  hours 
upon  a  mental  rack — and  when  at  last  the  glittering  point 
appeared  upon  the  horizon,  and,  coming  nearer  and  nearer, 
the  train  swept  up  before  the  station,  he  thought  he 
should  fall  senseless  at  the  sound  of  the  whistle  that 
rung  in  his  ears.  With  all  the  strength  that  he  was 
master  of,  he  mounted  the  high  steps  of  the  car,  and  the 
black,  red-eyed,  guardian  angel  of  thieves  and  murderers 
spread  abroad  its  smoky  pinions  and  steamed  away  with 
him  into  the  night. 

Safety  seemed  assured.  Upon  the  iron  path,  along 
which  he  was  carried  with  such  fiery  speed,  no  pursuit 
could  overtake  him,  except  through  the  electric  spark, — 
that  might  outstrip  him  and  cause  his  arrest  at  some  other 
station.  But  this  fear  did  not  trouble  him  greatly,  for  no 
one  knew  whither  he  had  fled.  To  baffle  pursuit,  he  had 
purchased  a  ticket  for  a  distant  town  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  Rhine,  while  he  intended  going  directly  to  Hamburg, 

37* 


438  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

first  stopping  at  Hanover  to  take  his  daughter  from  her 
boarding-school. 

It  was  a  cold,  disagreeable  night.  Overpowered  by 
fatigue,  he  fell  asleep  once  or  twice.  He  dreamed  he  was 
in  the  cabin  of  a  vessel  upon  the  ocean, — once  more  he 
breathed  freely — his  fears  were  at  an  end.  And  as  we  are 
apt  to  say,  when  some  danger  is  past,  "  Now  we  are  on  dry 
land  again,"  he,  on  the  contrary,  exulted  in  being  on  the 
water.  But  suddenly  the  cruel  guard  shouted  in  at  the 
door  his  monotonous  "Five  minutes  for  refreshment!" 
and  recalled  him  to  the  consciousness  that  he  was  still 
on  the  land,  on  the  land  where  for  him  there  was  no 
real  safety.  Thus  the  night  passed  between  waking  and 
sleeping.  The  other  travellers  looked  compassionately, 
by  the  flickering  light  of  the  car-lamp,  at  the  pale,  beard- 
less man  leaning  back  so  wearily  in  the  corner,  and 
thought  he  must  be  very  ill. 

At  last  the  dawn  flushed  the  horizon,  and  revealed  the 
uninteresting  level  landscape.  The  usual  beverage  was 
offered  at  all  the  stopping-places,  and  drank  for  coffee  by 
the  chilly  travellers,  who,  reduced  to  a  state  of  physical 
and  mental  weakness,  made  no  complaints,  only  mur- 
mured, "At  least  it  is  something  warm  !" 

An  old  lady,  who  had  got  into  the  car  during  the  night, 
and,  seated  by  Leuthold,  fairly  drank  herself  through  the 
whole  journey,  was  greatly  troubled  by  the  presence  of 
the  pale  man  who  appeared  impervious  to  earthly  needs 
and  sat  perfectly  motionless  in  his  corner.  What  kind  of 
a  man  could  this  be,  who  never  stirred,  never  took  any  re- 
freshment, never  smoked,  never  spoke,  not  even  to  answer 
the  usual  question,  "  Where  are  we  now  ?"  which  is  almost 
sure  to  open  a  conversation  ?  Nothing  makes  friends  more 
speedily  than  common  discomfort  in  travelling  at  night. 
All  the  other  travellers  in  the  car  had  grown  confidential, 
— had  stretched  themselves,  and  told  whether  and  how 
they  had  slept.  Leuthold  alone  was  as  if  deaf  and  dumb. 
Of  course  the  others  leagued  against  him.  They  watched 
him  curiously,  and  made  whispered  remarks  upon  his 
appearance.  At  last  he  grew  very  uncomfortable.  The 
restlessness  of  the  old  lady  by  his  side  tormented  him, 
she  was  perpetually  burying  him  beneath  her  huge  fur 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  439 

cloak,  which,  she  informed  him,  she  had  brought  into  the 
car  with  her  because  it  would  not  go  into  her  trunk,  and 
now  it  had  turned  out  quite  useful — who  would  have 
thought  a  September  night  would  be  so  cool  ?  Still,  she 
must  take  it  off,  lest  she  should  take  cold,  and  she  disen- 
tangled herself  from  the  voluminous  garment,  almost 
smothering  Leuthold  in  the  process.  The  other  gentle- 
men smilingly  assisted  her,  and  Leuthold  extricated  him- 
self impatiently.  The  cloak  was  at  last,  with  consider- 
able pains,  secured  in  the  place  made  for  portmanteaus  on 
one  side  of  the  car,  during  which  propess  the  towers  of 
the  capital,  looming  in  the  light  of  morning,  were  ap- 
proached unperceived.  The  pains  had  been  fruitless,  for 
the  guard  opened  the  door  with  the  words  that  would 
release  Leuthold,  "  Tickets  for  Hanover,  gentlemen  !" 

"  Oh,  good  gracious  !  are  we  there  already  ?"  cried  the 
old  lady,  rummaging  her  pockets  for  her  ticket,  which 
Leuthold  fortunately  picked  up  from  the  floor  and  handed 
to  her. 

Appeased  by  his  courtesy,  she  asked  him  if  he  too  was 
going  to  get  out  at  Hanover,  and,  upon  his  answering  by 
a  brief  "  Yes,"  she  informed  him,  to  his  horror,  that  she 
was  going  to  take  her  youngest  daughter  from  the  board- 
ing-school there,  to  establish  her  as  companion  with  a 
lady  in  Copenhagen.  She  had  a  hard  journey  before  her, 
for  she  should  continue  it  that  very  night. 

Therefore  he  determined  not  to  take  the  night  train  for 
Hamburg,  as  he  had  at  first  intended,  since  then  he  would 
have  to  travel  the  long  road  thither  from  Hanover  in 
company  with  this  officious  old  gossip  and  her  daughter. 
He  could  not  avoid  them,  as  the  daughter  was  in  the  same 
boarding-school  with  Gretchen,  and  probably  one  of  her 
friends.  It  was  incumbent  upon  him  to  have  no  companions 
to  whom  he  might  become  known  and  who  could  thus  afford 
intelligence  to  the  authorities  concerning  his  route.  Great 
as  was  the  danger  in  delay,  this  peril  was  still  greater. 
He  must  choose  the  lesser  evil,  and  lose  a  day. 

The  train  stopped.  The  old  lady  emerged  from  the 
car,  like  a  mole  from  the  earth,  and"  was  greeted  with  a 
joyful  exclamation  from  her  daughter,  who  was  waiting 
for  her  at  the  station. 


440  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Leuthold  threw  himself  into  a  droschky,  and  drove  to 
a  hotel,  whence  be  dispatched  a  few  lines  to  his  daughter, 
requesting  her  to  come  to  him. 

A  long  half-hour  ensued.  What  would  the  daughter 
be  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  seven  years?  Was  she 
what  she  seemed  in  her  letters  ?  If  she  were,  how  should 
he  meet  her  and  gaze  into  her  innocent  eyes  ? 

There  was  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door.  "  Come  in,"  he 
cried  eagerly,  and  there  entered  a  creature  so  lovely  in 
her  budding  maidenhood  that  Leuthold  could  only  open 
his  arms  to  her  in  mute  delight. 

The  girl  stood  for  one  moment  timidly  upon  the  thresh- 
old, and  then  threw  herself  upon  her  father's  breast 
with  a  cry  of  joy, — a  cry  in  which  all  the  home-sickness 
of  years  was  dissolved  in  the  rapture  of  reunion.  Closer 
and  closer  each  clasped  the  other, — neither  could  utter  a 
word.  The  child  wept  tears  of  joy  in  her  father's  arms, 
and  bitter  drops  fell  from  Leuthold's  eyes  upon  the  head 
that  he  pressed  to  his  breast  as  if  this  happiness  were  to 
be  his  only  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Father,  let  me  look  at  you,"  Gretchen  said  at  last, 
extricating  herself  from  his  embrace.  And  she  put  her 
hands  upon  either  side  of  his  head,  and  gazed  into  his 
eyes  with  the  clear,  frank  glance  of  innocence.  He  bore 
her  look  as  he  would  have  borne  to  look  at  the  sun  : 
it  seemed  to  him  that  it  must  blind  him,  and  that  he 
should  never  be  able  to  raise  his  eyelids  again. 

"  Father  dear,  I  can  see  how  you  have  laboured  and 
suffered,"  said  Gretchen  sadly.  "  It  was  high  time  for 
you  to  allow  yourself  a  little  relaxation.  Ah,  how  good 
it  is  of  you  to  come  to  me, — to  me!"  And  her  emotion 
found  vent  in  kisses.  "  But  the  surprise !"  she  cried  with 
a  long  breath,  "  the  surprise !  I  could  hardly  believe 
my  eyes  when  your  note  was  handed  to  me.  '  My 
father's  hand,'  I  thought,  '  and  from  here?'  I  opened  the 
note  and  read, — and  read, — in  distinct  letters,  that  my 
father  was  really  here.  I  gave  such  a  cry  of  delight  that 
every  one  came  running  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 
I  was  just  out  of  bed,  and  would  gladly  have  run  to  you 
in  my  dressing-gown!  Oh,  heavens!  I  could  scarcely 
dress  myself, — everything  went  wrong.  I  should  never 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  441 

have  got  through  if  the  Fraulein  had  not  helped  me, — I 
was  in  such  a  hurry!"  And  she  laughed,  and  cried, 
and  threw  her  arms  around  her  father  again,  as  if  she 
feared  he  might  vanish  from  her  sight.  "Ah,  father, 
what  shall  I  call  you  ?  My  own  darling  father,  is  this 
really  you  ?  Are  you  going  to  stay  with  me  now  for  a 
while?  Are  vou  half  as  glad  to  see  me  as  I  am  to  see 
you?" 

Thus  the  innocent,  joyous  creature  overwhelmed  him 
with  love  and  caresses,  and  he,  lost  as  he  was,  heard  his 
condemnation  in  every  one  of  her  tender  words. 

Could  this  angel  ever  descend  from  her  upper  sphere 
to  a  knowledge  of  her  father's  crime?  Could  her  pure 
soul  ever  be  stained  with  thoughts  of  sin,  of  which  as 
yet  she  had  no  idea,  and  learn  to  despise,  as  a  criminal, 
him  whom  she  now  held  dearest  in  the  world? 

But  this  was  not  all  that  he  feared.  What  if  his  dis- 
grace were  to  be  visited  upon  his  child?  What  if  this 
young  bud  should  be  buried  beneath  the  ruins  of  his 
shattered  existence?  Who  would  have  anything  to  do 
with  tbe  daughter  of  a  criminal  ? 

"  Visiting  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children  to 
the  third  and  fourth  generation!"  These  words,  hitherto 
only  empty  sounds  to  him,  haunted  his  memory  in  terrible 
distinctness.  They  perfectly  expressed  the  dread  that 
possessed  him. 

"  Father,  how  silent  you  are!"  said  Gretchcn  timidly. 

"Oh,  my  child, — my  life!  I  can  do  nothing  but  look 
at  you  and  delight  in  you  !  Your  loveliness  is  like  a 
revelation  to  me  from  on  high !  I  have  become  a  new 
man  since  I  know  myself  the  father  of  such  a  child  !  I 
cannot  jest  and  laugh, — my  joy  is  too  deep  1  So  let  me 
be  silent,  and,  believe  me,  the  graver  I  am,  the  more  I 
love  you." 

Gretchen  instantly  understood  and  sympathized  with 
her  father's  mood.  ':  You  are  right, — we  do  not  jest  and 
laugh  in  church,  and  yet  I  am  so  filled  there  with  grati- 
tude for  God's  kindness  to  me!  How  I  thank  Him  now 
for  this  moment!  I  have  prayed  Him  for  so  many  years 
to  send  you  to  me,  and  now  my  prayer  is  answered, — you 
are  here.  His  way  is  always  the  best.  He  has  not  sent 


442  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

you  before,  because  I  was  not  old  enough  to  appreciate 
this  happiness."  Leuthold  had  seated  himself  by  this 
time,  and  she  stood  beside  him  and  pillowed  his  head 
upon  her  breast.  "  You  are  worn  out,  father  dear.  You 
look  so  sad.  But  now  you  are  mine,  and  I  will  tend  you 
and  cherish  you  until  you  forget  all  your  care  and  anxiety. 
Oh  that  Ernestine, — I  will  not  wish  her  ill,  but  would 
she  only  give  back  to  me  every  smile  that  she  has  stolen 
from  you, — to  me,  who  have  nothing  but  your  smile  in 
this  world  !"  She  imprinted  upon  his  forehead  a  kiss 
that  burned  there  like  a  coal  of  fire. 

"  We  will  not  speak  of  Ernestine  now,  my  child,"  said 
Leuthold.  "  Let  her  be  what  she  is.  We  will  talk  of 
her  by-and-by.  Lately  she  has  not  been  so  hard  to  con- 
trol, and  has  often  spoken  of  you  affectionately.  I  think 
she  will  shortly  marry,  and  then  she  will  be  gentler,  for 
love  always  ennobles.  She  has  not  quite  decided  as  to 
her  future  course  yet,  but  I  think  she  will  marry.  At  all 
events,  she  will  take  care  of  you  if  anything  should 
happen  to  me.  Yes,  she  will, — I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Father,"  cried  Gretchen  in  alarm,  "  how  can  you  talk 
so?  What  could  happen  to  you?" 

"Why,  my  child,  I  might  die  suddenly.  We  must  be 
prepared  for  everything,  the  future  is  in  God's  hand." 

Gretchen  knelt  down  beside  him,  and  pressed  her 
rosy  lips  upon  his  slender  hand.  "  Father  dear,  why 
cast  a  shadow  upon  this  happy  hour?  Just  as  I  have 
found  you,  must  I  think  of  losing  you?  Oh,  my  Heav- 
enly Father  cannot  be  so  cruel!  You  are  in  His  hand, 
and  He  who  has  brought  yo-u  to  me  will  let  me  keep 
you." 

She  laid  her  head  upon  his  knee  with  childlike  tender- 
ness, and  was  silent. 

"Visiting  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children" 
rang  again  in  the  ears  of  the  happy  and  yet  miserable 
father.  Thus  several  hours  passed,  amid  the  girl's  loving 
talk  and  laughing  jests,  until  at  last,  at  noon,  she  sprang 
up  and  declared  she  must  go  home  to  dinner.  Leuthold 
would  not  let  her  go.  He  said  they  would  not  expect 
her  at  the  school, — they  would  know  she  would  stay 
with  her  father.  And  so  they  dined  together,  for  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  443 

first  time  after  so  many  years.  But  to  Leuthold  the 
meal  was  like  the  last  before  his  execution. 

After  dinner  he  went  to  see  the  governess  of  the  Insti- 
tute, and  asked  her  to  allow  Gretchen  to  take  a  pleasure- 
trip  of  a  few  weeks  with  him. — a  request  that  was  readily 
granted,  although  madame  declared  that  she  could  not 
tell  how  she  should  do  without  Gretchen  so  long.  "For 
I  assure  you,"  said  she,  "that  Gretchen  has  richly  re- 
warded us  for  our  trouble.  When  she  really  leaves  me, 
she  will  carry  a  large  piece  of  my  heart  with  her." 

"  Oh,  how  can  I  thank  you  ?"  cried  Gretchen,  throwing 
herself  into  her  kind  friend's  arms. 

Leuthold  was  deeply  troubled.  Should  he  snatch  this 
child  from  the  soil  into  which  she  had  struck  root  so  se- 
curely, and  where  she  had  blossomed  so  fairly  in  the  sun- 
shine of  peace  and  good  will  ?  And  yet  could  he  leave 
her  here  to  lose  her  forever  ?  If  justice  should  pursue 
him  to  America,  he  never  could  send  for  his  daughter 
without  betraying  his  place  of  refuge.  She  was  his  child. 
He  had  a  sacred  claim  upon  her,  and,  since  he  had  seen 
her  again,  was  less  able  than  ever  to  do  without  her.  She 
should  share  his  fate. 

While  he  was  in  the  parlour  of  the  Institute,  the  old 
lady  who  had  been  his  travelling  companion,  and  who 
had  passed  the  whole  day  with  her  daughter,  entered, 
and  was  charmed  to  meet  him  again,  only  regretting  that 
they  were  not  to  continue  their  journey  together  that 
evening. 

Madame  invited  him  to  return  to  tea, — an  invitation 
that  he  could  not  refuse, — and  he  left  the  house  for  awhile 
for  a  walk  with  Gretchen.  The  girl's  delight  knew  no 
bounds  when  she  found  herself  promenading  the  streets 
upon  her  father's  arm.  She  had  on  her  prettiest  bonnet 
and  her  best  dress, — she  wished  to  be  a  credit  to  her 
father  and  to  please  him,  and  she  entirely  succeeded. 
She  was  charming.  Leuthold  regarded  her  with  increas- 
ing admiration,  and  his  busy  mind  began  to  weave  fresh 
plans  for  the  future  out  of  her  brown  hair  and  long  eye- 
lashes. The  world  stood  open  for  this  angel,  might  she 
not  pass  scathless  through  it  with  a  father  who  had  been 
proscribed  ?  Who  could  withstand  those  half-laughing, 


444  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

half-pensive  gazelle-eyes,  and  those  pouting  lips,  pleading 
for  a  father  ? 

As  she  walked  beside  him  thus,  her  elastic  form 
lightly  supported  upon  his  arm-,  prattling  on  with  all 
the  grace  of  a  nature  full  of  sense  and  sensibility,  he 
too  began  to  smile  and  to  revive.  He  might  be  most 
wretched  as  a  man,  but  he  was  greatly  to  be  envied  as 
a  father. 

Gretchen  interrupted  his  reverie.  "Father,"  she  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "  when  I  was  a  little  child,  you  never 
liked  to  have  me  speak  of  my  mother.  But  I  want  very 
much  to  know  what  became  of  her  after  she  married  that 
head-waiter.  Will  you  tell  me  to-day  ?" 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing, — I  know  nothing  of  her 
since  she  left  Marburg,  after  her  father's  death.  At  the 
time  of  the  divorce  she  sent  me  the  sum  that  she  was  to 
contribute  to  the  expenses  of  your  education,  and  her 
coarse  husband  permitted  no  further  correspondence  be- 
tween us.  He  sent  back  to  me  unopened  every  letter  in 
which  I  tried  to  arrange  matters  more  methodically.  I 
learned  through  a  third  person  that  she  had  left  Marburg. 
I  do  not  know  where  she  is  living  now." 

Gretchen  shook  her  head  and  said  nothing. 

"I  look  like  you,  father,  do  I  not?"  she  asked  anx- 
iously. She  did  not  want  to  resemble  her  faithless 
mother  in  anything. 

"  You  inherit  her  beauty,  refined  and  ennobled,  and  my 
way  of  thinking  and  feeling." 

Gretchen  nestled  close  to  his  side.  "  I  would  like  to 
grow  more  like  you  every  day." 

"  God  forbid  I"  Leuthold  thought  to  himself,  in  the  full 
consciousness  of  what  he  was,  as  he  turned  to  go  back 
to  the  Institute.  If  he  could  only  have  thus  retraced  his 
steps  in  the  path  of  life  ! 

The  evening  passed  more  slowly  than  if  he  had  been 
alone  with  Gretchen,  although  he  was  delighted  by  fresh 
proofs  of  her  ability  and  progress.  He  was  especially 
surprised  by  her  artistic  talent, — her  drawings  and 
sketches  in  colour.  She  had  not  exaggerated  when  she 
wrote  to  him  that  she  was  as  entirely  fitted  as  a  girl 
could  be  to  earn  her  own  livelihood.  He  was  perfectly 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  445 

satisfied  upon  that  point.  And  as  he  lay  down  to  rest  at 
night,  a  sense  of  relief  filled  his  mind  greater  than  any  he 
had  felt  for  a  long  time,  and  it  soothed  him  to  repose. 

The  next  morning  Gretchen  heard,  to  her  surprise,  that 
her  kind  father  desired  to  give  her  a  glimpse  of  the  ocean. 
He  would  wait  until  they  were  on  board  of  the  steamer, 
he  thought,  before  he  told  her  of  his  real  plans.  They 
took  the  early  train  for  Hamburg,  and  arrived  there 
towards  evening.  Leuthold  thought  it  advisable  to  go 
directly  to  a  large  hotel,  where  an  individual  would  not 
excite  as  much  observation  as  in  a  smaller  house.  He 
selected  one  of  the  most  splendid  hotels  in  the  gayest 
street  in  Hamburg. 

Gretchen  was  enchanted  with  the  sight  of  this  north- 
ern Venice.  The  extensive  basin  of  the  Alster  lay  be- 
fore them,  framed  in  hundreds  of  bright  lights,  on  its 
bank  the  brilliantly  illuminated  Alster  Pavilion,  while 
the  rippling  waves  reflected  the  moon's  rays  in  a  long  path 
of  shining  silver.  Like  pictures  in  a  magic  lantern,  the 
gondolas  glided  hither  and  thither,  and  the  fresh  sea- 
breeze  wafted  the  notes  of  gay  music  from  the  other  side. 
The  waves  of  the  sea  of  light  and  of  sound  burst  in 
harmony  upon  Gretchen's  eyes  and  ears,  and  made  her 
fairly  giddy  with  delight.  She  could  almost  believe  that 
the  Nixies,  scared  away  to  their  depths  during  the  day  by 
the  passing  to  and  fro  upon  the  waters  of  so  much  life 
and  vivacity,  were  now  beginning  to  sport  there  in  the 
moonlight,  playing  around  the  skiffs  and  singing  their  en- 
ticing strains.  And  when  she  turned  her  eyes  to  the  shore, 
bordered  by  palaces  and  crowded  with  restless  throngs 
of  pedestrians  and  gay  equipages,  presenting  a  scene  of 
reality  to  counteract  the  dreamy  impression  produced  by 
the  expanse  of  water,  the  world  seemed  to  the  child  a  gar- 
den of  enchantment,  and  her  father  the  mighty  magician 
reigning  over  it,  who  had  brought  her  hither  to  enjoy  its 
splendours.  She  threw  her  arms  around  him  and  kissed  his 
hands,  and  could  not  thank  him  enough  for  giving  her 
such  new  delight. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  the  mag- 
nificent hotel,  and  the  attendants  came  running  to  offer 
their  services.  The  head-waiter  stood  in  the  door- 

38 


44G  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

way,  ready  to  receive  the  new  arrivals.  Leuthold  helped 
out  Gretchen  and  handed  over  the  baggage  to  a  servant. 
As  he  ascended  the  steps,  he  glanced  for  the  first  time  at 
the  dignified  and  trim  deputy  of  the  host.  He  started, 
and  the  man  too  was  evidently  startled.  Each  seemed 
familiar  to  the  other;  one  moment  of  reflection,  and  the 
recognition  was  mutual.  Leuthold  held  fast  by  Gret- 
chen, or  he  would  have  staggered.  There  stood  the  head- 
waiter  of  his  father-in-law's  inn, — Bertha's  husband. 

They  exchanged  a  hostile  glance  of  recognition. 
Then  the  man  cried  with  a  perfectly  unconcerned  air, 
"  Louis,  show  Dr.  Gleissert  and  his  daughter  to  Nos. 
42  and  43." 

It  seemed  to  Leuthold  that  the  servant  smiled  at  the 
mention  of  his  name,  and  that  he  exchanged  a  significant 
glance  with  his  chief.  But  this  was  probably  only  an 
illusion  of  his  excited  fancy.  He  hesitated  whether  it 
would  not  be  better  to  go  to  another  hotel.  But  that 
would  look  like  flight, — he  had  been  recognized,  and,  if 
the  man  chose  to  pursue  him,  he  could  follow  him  to  any 
inn  in  Hamburg. 

His  enemy  stood  aside  with  a  -contemptuous  obeisance, 
and  Leuthold  followed  his  guide  up  to  the  fourth  story. 
"  Have  you  no  room  in  a  lower  story  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,"  replied  the  servant  with  a  smile, 
"they  are  all  occupied — you  have  a  very  good  view  here 
of  the  river." 

Leuthold  Was  silent.  He  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  a 
trap.  How  had  he  come  to  choose  in  all  this  wide  city 
the  very  house  where  dwelt  his  worst  enemy  ?  How  did 
the  fellow  come  here  ? 

The  servant  Louis  opened  a  charming  room,  looking 
out  upon  the  water,  and  Gretchen  could  not  suppress  an 
exclamation  of  delight  as  she  looked  down  from  such  a 
height  upon  all  the  beauty  below  them.  It  seemed  like 
heaven  to  her.  Louis  lighted  the  candles,  and  awaited 
further  orders. 

"How  long  has  Herr  Meyer  been  head-waiter  here?" 
Leuthold  asked  as  if  incidentally. 

"  For  about  a  year,"  Louis  replied,  arranging  his  nap- 
kin upon  his  arm.  "  He  is  a  relative  of  the  proprietor  of 


OR  A   PHYSIC f AN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  447 

this  house,  who,  when  his  only  son  died,  sent  for  Herr 
Meyer,  that  the  business  might  not  pass  into  strange 
hands." 

"  Indeed — then  will  Herr  Meyer  succeed  him  ?" 

"I  believe  so, — yes,  sir." 

Leuthold  walked  to  and  fro  upon  the  soft  carpet. 

"  Will  you  have  supper,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  you  go  down  to  the  dining-hall,  sir  ?" 

"  No,  I  had  rather  not  mount  those  four  flights  of  stairs 
again.  Bring  our  supper  here,  if  you  please." 

"  Very  well,  sir,  I  will  get  you  the  bill  of  fare  instantly." 

"  Here — stop  a  moment " 

"What  do  you  wish,  sir?" 

"  Bring  me  up  a  couple  of  newspapers  at  the  same  time." 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  the  man,  Gretchen  turned 
round  from  the  window,  where  she  had  been  standing 
with  clasped  hands.  "  Father,"  said  she,  "  I  am  fairly 
dazzled  with  all  that  I  see.  I  never  was  so  happy  in  my 
life  before.  But,  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  I  never  forget 
whom  I  have  to  thank  for  all  this  pleasure."  And  she 
knelt  upon  the  carpet  and  laid  her  head  upon  the 
lap  of  her  father,  who  had  flung  himself  exhausted  into 
a  chair.  "  Do  not  you  too,  father,  feel  easy  and  free  up 
here  in  the  pure,  clear  air,  with  this  lovely  view  of  the 
shining  water  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  child,"  said  Leuthold,  his*breast  filled 
the  while  with  deadly  forebodings. 

Gretchen  sprang  up  again,  and  took  two  or  three  deep 
breaths.  "  Oh,"  she  cried,  running  to  the  window  again, 
"it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  been  thirsty  all  my  life,  and 
am  now  drinking  deep  refreshing  draughts  in  looking  at 
those  rolling  waves."  She  leaned  her  fair  forehead  against 
the  window-frame,  and  eagerly  inhaled  the  fresh  breeze 
that  blew  into  the  room  from  the  Alster.  "How  happy 
those  are  who  are  at  home  upon  two  elements,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  land  and  water  !  We,  poor  land-rats,  must  cling 
to  the  soil.  Think  of  inhabiting  all  four  of  the  elements, 
now  working  and  walking  upon  the  earth,  then  soaring 
aloft  into  the  air,  now  floating  dreamily  upon  the  waves, 


448  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

or  dancing  in  the  ardent  glow  of  fire, — would  not  that  be 
glorious  ?" 

"Then  you  would  be  man,  fish,  bird,  and  sala- 
mander all  at  once,"  said  Leuthold,  smiling  in  surprise 
at  the  girl's  earnest  tone.  "  Well,  well,  it  might  be  all 
very  delightful  at  sixteen,  but  a  man  as  aged  as  your  old 
father  is  thankful  if  he  can  live  respectably  upon  the  earth 
only." 

"My  old  father  !"  laughed  Gretchen,  hastening  to  his 
side  again — "  you  darling  papa,  how  can  you  call  yourself 
aged  ?  Come  with  me  to  the  window,  the  prospect  there 
will  make  you  twenty  years  younger."  She  drew  him 
towards  it.  "  It  is  very  strange,  I  think,  but  certainly  a 
new  revelation  of  beauty  should  make  the  old  younger, 
and  the  young  older.  It  is  a  new  experience  for  the 
young,  and  experience  always  makes  us  mature.  It  is  a 
memory  for  the  old,  for  they  are  sure  to  have  seen  some- 
thing of  the  kind  in  previous  years,  and  it  carries  them 
back  to  the  earlier  and  youthful  sensations  that  it  first 
awakened  in  them.  Such  a  memory  should  lighten  the 
soul  of  ten  years  at  least." 

Leuthold  looked  at  his  daughter  with  unfeigned  surprise. 
"  Child,  where  did  you  learn  all  that?" 

"  Why,  out  of  some  book  that  I  have  read,  I  suppose," 
said  Gretchen  modestly.  "  One  always  remembers  some- 
thing, you  know." 

"Blessed  be  the  day  that  gave  you  to  me, — you  are  all 
that  I  have." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  servant  entered 
with  the  bill  of  fare  and  the  newspapers. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  for  keeping  you  waiting.  I  had  to  go 
to  Madame  for  to-day's  paper." 

"  No  matter,"  said  Leuthold,  almost  gaily.  His  talk  with 
his  daughter  had  done  him  good. 

He  ordered  a  little  supper,  and,  when  the  man  left  the 
room,  seated  himself  on  a  sofa  and  began  to  read. 

Gretchen  took  her  work, — she  was  just  at  the  age 
when  affection  finds  instant  pleasure  in  embroidering  or 
crocheting  some  article  for  the  beloved  object.  So  she 
sat  and  sewed  diligently  upon  a  letter-case  that  she  was 
embroidering  for  her  father  while  he  read.  Now  and  then 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  449 

she  turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  to  be  sure  that 
all  the  splendour  there  had  not  vanished. 

Suddenly  she  was  startled  by  a  profound  sigh  from  her 
father,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  him  sitting  pale  as  ashes, 
staring  at  the  paper  that  had  fallen  from  his  hands.  In 
an  instant  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  in  mute  despair. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear,  dear  father  ?  what  is  it  ?" 
she  asked  in  alarm,  but,  receiving  no  reply,  she  picked  up 
the  newspaper,  to  see  if  she  could  discover  from  it  what 
had  caused  his  agitation.  She  read  unobserved  by  him 
— he  was  leaning  out  of  the  window  for  air — read  what 
seemed  to  her  a  strange  tongue,  to  be  deciphered  only 
in  her  heart's  blood.  Jt  was  a  telegraphic  order  from 

the  magistrate  of  W .  "Dr.  Leu'thold  Gleissert,  former 

Professor  in  Pr — ,  is  charged  with  having  appropriated, 
by  means  of  forgery,  and  expended  upon  his  own  account, 
the  property,  amounting  to  upwards  of  ninety  thousand 
tlialers,  of  his  ward  Ernestine  von  Hartwicb,  of  lloch- 
stetten,  and  also  of  having  robbed  the  mail.  You  are 
desired  to  arrest  and  detain  him."  A  personal  description 
of  him  followed,  but  Gretchen  had  read  enough.  "  Father!" 
she  screamed,  "  father!  father!"  And,  as  if  in  these  three 
words  she  had  summed  up  all  there  was  to  say,  she  fell 
forward  with  her  face  upon  the  floor,  as  though  never  to 
raise  it  again. 

There  stood  the  guilty  man,  forced  to  behold  his  child 
crushed  beneath  the  ruins  of  his  shattered  existence.  He 
did  not  venture  to  touch  the  sacred  form  extended  before 
him  in  anguish.  He  looked  down  upon  her  like  one 
almost  bereft  of  reason.  God  had  visited  his  sin  upon 
him,  probing  the  only  place  in  his  heart  sensitive  to  hu- 
man feeling — his  punishment  lay  in  the  sight  of  his  child's 
agony  without  the  power  to  relieve  it. 

Suddenly  Gretchen  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him 
with  those  clear,  conscious  eyes  whose  gaze  he  had  always 
endured  with  difficulty,  and  before  which  his  own  eyes 
now  drooped  instantly.  "It  is  not  true — it  cannot  be! 
Father,  you  are  innocent — you  cannot  have  done  this 
thing  1" 

38* 


450  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"For  God's  sake,  Gretchen,  do  not  speak  so  loud," 
Leuthold  entreated. 

"  You  tremble — you  will  not  look  at  me.  Father,  if 
you  have  thus  burdened  your  soul,  I  cannot  be  your 
judge — I  will  be  your  conscience.  I  will  not  let  you  enjoy 
a  single  hour  of  rest  or  sleep  until  you  have  restored 
what  does  not  belong  to  you.  I  will  die  of  hunger  before 
your  eyes,  rather  than  taste  a  morsel  that  is  not  honestly 
earned.  But  what  arn  I  saying?  I  am  beside  myself! 
It  is  not  possible ! — not  possible  !  Relieve  me  from  my 
misery  by  one  word.  My  soul  is  in  darkness,  cast  one 
ray  of  light  into  it."  She  clasped  his  knees  imploringly. 
"Father,  swear  to  me  that  you  are  innocent -" 

"  My  child " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  No,  no  oath,  no  asseveration — 
there  is  no  need  between  us  of  any  such — only  a  simple 
yes  or  no,  and  I  will  believe  you !  Look  at  me,  father, 
— oh,  look  at  me !  Do  not  speak,  do  not  even  say  yes  or 
no, — let  me  but  look  into  your  eyes,  and  my  doubts  will 
disappear." 

"  Gretchen,"  whispered  Leuthold,  trying  to  extricate 
himself  from  her  clasping  arms,  "  listen  to  me !" 

"  No,  father,  no,  I  will  not  let  you  go.  I  want  no  ex- 
planation, no  argument.  If  you  have  committed  this 
crime,  nothing  can  extenuate  it.  I  will  hear  nothing, 
know  nothing,  but  whether  you  have  committed  it  or  not." 
She  sought,  in  childlike  eagerness,  to  meet  his  eye — she 
unclasped  her  arms  from  his  knees  to  seize  his  hands  and 
cover  them  with  kisses,  while  a  flood  of  tears  relieved  her 
heart.  "  Forgive  me,  forgive  me  for  daring  to  speak  thus 
to  you,  a  child  to  a  father.  Oh,  God!  how  unworthy  I 
am  of  your  affection!  The  false  accusation  invented  by 
evil  men  could  lead  me  astray,  and  I  dare  to  ask  if  you 
are  innocent  !  Forgive  me,  my  kind,  patient  father — see, 
I  will  not  ask  you  again,  I  will  not  even  look  inquiringly 
into  your  eyes.  The  touch  of  your  hand,  this  dear,  faithful 
hand,  suffices  to  reassure  me  and  lead  me  back  to  the 
knowledge  of  a  daughter's  duty."  And  she  laid  her  face, 
wet  with  tears,  upon  his  hands,  with  a  touching  humility 
that  cut  him  more  deeply  than  any  accusations  could  have 
done. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  451 

"  There — that's  quite  enough !"  suddenly  said  a  voice 
behind  them,  that  curdled  the  blood  in  Leuthold's  veins. 
"  I  will  teach  you  a  daughter's  duty  1"  And  from  the 
doorway  of  the  adjoining  room  Bertha's  stout  figure  made 
its  appearance  boldly  advancing. 

"Good  God,  my  mother!"  shrieked  Gretchen,  and  she 
recoiled  involuntarily. 

"  Gretel,"  said  the  woman,  "  are  you  afraid  of  your 
mother  while  you  are  on  your  knees  to  that  villain  ?" 

Leuthold  stepped  between  her  and  his  child.  "  Bertha," 
said  he,  "it  seems  to  me  my  punishment  is  sufficient. 
Surely  you  need  not  avenge  yourself  by  snatching  from 
me  my  child's  heart, — a  heart  that  you  never  prized,  and 
will  never  win  to  yourself.  If  there  is  a  particle  of  ma- 
ternal tenderness  in  your  breast,  spare,  not  me,  but  this 
innocent  angel.  Do  not  destroy  the  most  precious  pos- 
session of  a  youthful  heart, — confidence  in  her  father. 
Bertha,  Bertha,  you  will  harm  the  daughter  more  than 
the  parent!  Give  heed  to  your  maternal  heart,  which 
must  throb  more  quickly  at  sight  of  this  fair  flower,  and 
spare  me  a  blow  that  would  annihilate  her." 

Frau  Bertha  folded  her  arms,  and  looked  upon  Leuthold 
with  exceeding  disdain.  "  Oho !  now  it  is  your  turn  to 
beg.  I  am  no  longer  rude,  clumsy,  and  coarse  as  a  brute, 
as  I  was  when  you  drove  me  oif  because  I  was  too  awk- 
ward to  help  you  to  steal  the  inheritance." 

"  Bertha  I". cried  Leuthold,  pointing  to  Gretchen,  whose 
imploring  eyes  were  turning  from  one  parent  to  the  other 
in  increasing  distress. 

"  Yes,  yes,  she  shall  hear  it  all!  She  shall  know  what 
a  charming  papa  she  has,  and  that  you  are  not  unjustly 
accused  in  the  papers.  Why  should  you  stop  at  such  a 
crime  as  that,  when  you  would  have  beggared  Ernestine 
as  a  child,  persuading  old  Hartwich  to  make  you  his  heir  ? 
There  is  nothing  that  you  would  not  do.  I  can  tell  her 
that, — I,  your  wife,  who  lived  with  you  for  years.  And 
your  child  shall  curse  you,  instead  of  adoring  you  as  a 
saint.  No  one  can  tell  what  a  fine  game  you  might  have 
played,  if  you  had  once  got  off  to  America  with  such  a 
pretty  girl." 

At  these  words  Gretchen  uttered  a  loud  shriek. 


452  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Bertha  pitilessly  continued,  "And  just  because  I  have 
maternal  feeling  enough  to  try  to  save  my  child,  I  will 
prevent  your  evil  designs.  You  shall  not  carry  the  poor 
thing  away  with  you  to  such  a  life  as  yours, — not  while 
Hive!" 

"Bertha,"  cried  Leuthold,  forgetting  all  caution,  "hush, 
or  mischief  will  be  done  here !" 

"What  mischief?  Will  you  try  to  throttle  me,  as  you 
did  when  Hartwich  made  Ernestine  his  heir  instead  of 
you  ?  Only  lay  a  finger  on  me !  There  is  a  police-officer 
outside  in  the  passage,  whom  my  husband  placed  there 
lest  Louis  should  not  be  able  to  serve  my  fine  gentleman 
with  sufficient  elegance." 

"  Great  God  !"  gasped  Gretchen,  staggering  as  if  mor- 
tally wounded. 

"Is  it  really  so?  Could  your  mean  desire  for  revenge 
degrade  you  thus?"  asked  Leuthold,  still  incredulous. 

"It  was  not  I,  but  my  husband,  who  owes  you  a 
grudge  because  I  played  him  false  and  married  you.  A 
gentleman  came  here  this  morning  with  the  chief  of  police 
to  search  this  house,  as  well  as  all  the  other  hotels  in  the 
city,  and  left  orders  that  if  you  arrived  here  he  was  to 
be  informed  of  it.  My  husband  sent  for  him,  and,  for 
greater  security's  sake,  for  a  police-officer  too, — I  only 
wanted  to  speak  to  poor  Gretel  beforehand,  and  take  her 
under  my  protection  when  her  father  was  arrested."  She 
approached  the  girl,  who  fled  like  some  frightened  animal 
to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room. 

"Go!"  she  cried,  trembling  in  every  limb.  "Do  not 
touch  me!  You  can  do  nothing  for  me  now  but  kill 
me,  and  put  an  end  to  the  agony  you  have  brought 
upon  me." 

She  burst  into  a  piteous  fit  of  sobbing.  No  one  ob- 
served that  the  door  had  been  gently  opened,  and  that  a 
young  man  was  standing  upon  the  threshold,  regarding 
the  unfortunate  girl  with  the  deepest  compassion. 

"My  child,"  said  Leuthold,  going  timidly  up  to  her, 
"  my  child,  will  you  not  listen  to  one  word  from  your  un- 
worthy father?" 

"  Do  not  speak,  father.  What  good  can  it  do  ?  I  can- 
not believe  you  any  more, — cannot  save  you, — cannot, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  453 

although  I  would  so  gladly  do  it, — wash  away  your  guilt, 
even  with  my  heart's  blood.     I  can  only  weep  for  you." 

"Forgive  one  entirely  unknown  to  you  for  intruding 
upon  such  grief,"  the  stranger  now  said,  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  pity.  "I  am  compelled  by  cruel  circum- 
stances to  appear  as  an  enemy,  when  I  would  gladly  act 
the  part  of  a  friend  and  comforter."  He  turned  to  Bertha. 
"  May  I  entreat  you  to  leave  us  a  few  minutes  alone?" 

She  went  out  grumbling. 

"  Herr  Gleissert,"  he  continued,  "  my  name  is  Hils- 
born.  Do  not  start.  I  am  not  come  to  avenge  my  dead 
father.  His  sainted  spirit  would  disdain  revenge.  He 
forgave  you  freely  while  he  lived.  I  come  in  place  of  my 
friend  Mollner,  who  is  detained  by  the  dangerous  illness 
of  your  niece,  to  vindicate  the  rights  of  Fraulein  Ernes- 
tine. We  learned  from  Fran  Willmers  that  you  had  sent 
your  effects  to  Hamburg  poste-restante  several  days  ago, 
and  that  you  would  of  course  be  obliged  to  come  hither 
to  reclaim  them.  Mollner  requested  me  to  pursue  you 
without  delay,  and,  without  one  thought  of  personal  re- 
venge, I  consented  to  assist  my  friend  in  reinstating  your 
unfortunate  ward  in  her  rights.  I  little  knew  what  my 
acceptance  of  this  duty  would  cost  me,  for  the  few  minutes 
that  I  lingered  on  that  threshold  taught  me  that  my  task 
is  not  alone  to  hand  you  over  to  justice,  but  to  deprive  a 
daughter  of  her  father." 

"  You  shame  me,  sir,  by  such  kindness  at  a  moment 
when  a  less  magnanimous  man  would  have  believed 
himself  justified  in  heaping  me  with  insult.  I  am 
the  more  grateful  to  you  since  you,  of  all  others,  have* 
most  reason  to  hate  me.  Your  humanity,  under  these 
sad  circumstances,  relieves  me  with  regard  to  the  fate  of 
my  unfortunate  child,  for  it  emboldens  me  to  hope  that 
you  will  extend  your  chivalrous  kindness  to  her  also." 

"  Rely  upon  it,  I  will  do  so,"  Hilsborn  assured  him. 

"And  let  me  hope,  my  child,  that  you  will  not  reject 
the  noble  protection  thus  offered  you.  Herr  Hilsborn, 
remember,  has  done  your  father  no  wrong, — he  has  only, 
in  his  natural  desire  for  justice,  lent  his  aid  to  the  hand  that 
is  pursuing  me.  I  presume,"  continued  he,  turning  to  Hils- 
born, "that  you  have  provided  for  my  immediate  arrest  ?" 


454  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Yes,  Herr  Gleissert,"  said  Hilsborn  gently,  "  the  su- 
perintendent of  the  hotel  has  assisted  me  to  do  so." 

"  Then  I  will  place  no  unnecessary  obstacles  in  your 
way.  I  shall  submit  to  the  investigation  with  a  good 
conscience." 

Hilsborn  laid  his  hand  lightly  upon  Leuthold's  arm. 
"  Herr  Gleissert,  do  not  reject  advice  that  is  well  meant." 
He  spoke  in  a  whisper,  that  Gretchen,  who  was  listening 
with  feverish  eagerness,  might  not  hear  what  he  said. 

"  Well  ?"  asked  Leuthold. 

"  Do  not  attempt  denial,  you  will  only  weaken  your 
case.  The  proofs  of  your  crime  are  most  decisive." 

"  How  so?"  asked  Leuthold  quietly,  believing  that  he 
had  destroyed  every  scrap  of  paper  that  could  criminate 
him. 

"  On  the  evening  of  your  flight,  a  letter  was  received 
from  a  former  maid  of  Fraulein  Hartwich's,  who  trav- 
elled in  Italy  with  you,  demanding  immediate  pay- 
ment of  her  yearly  stipend,  for  which  she  had  written 
several  times  in  vain.  She  reminds  you,  Herr  Gleissert, 
of  what  she  has  done  for  you, — how  she  worked  some- 
times ail  night  long,  trying  to  imitate  Fraulein  von  Hart- 
wich's signature,  that  she  might  be  able  to  counterfeit 
her  successfully  before  the  notary.  In  short,  the  letter 
proves  beyond  a  doubt  that  you  deceived  the  notary  by 
substituting  the  person  as  well  as  the  signature  of  the 
maid  for  your  ward's,  that  the  deed  might  be  complete  by 
which  the  Orphans'  Court  was  induced  to  resign  the 
estate  in  its  charge." 

•>     Leuthold  stood  before  the  young  man  pale  and  mute. 
Hilsborn  saw  the  terrible  agony  of  his  soul. 

"  I  do  not  tell  you  this  to  humiliate  you  or  to  increase 
your  pain,  but  only  to  warn  you,"  he  continued,  "that 
you  may  not  lose  any  time  by  a  false  plan  of  defence,  and 
perhaps  thereby  deprive  yourself  of  the  sympathy  sure 
to  await  a  man  of  your  culture  who  makes  frank  and 
remorseful  confession  of  his  guilt." 

Leuthold's  lips  quivered  at  these  well-meant  words. 
"  Have  steps  been  taken  to  secure  the  person  of  the 
maid  ?"  he  inquired,  in  the  tone  in  which  he  would  have 
asked,  "  How  long  have  I  to  live?" 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  455 

"  Professor  Mollner  telegraphed  immediately  to  0 , 

the  girl's  present  place  of  abode,  and  just  before  I  left 
him  he  received  intelligence  that  she  had  been  placed 
under  arrest.  The  notary  also  has  been  summoned.  Be 
assured  that,  as  your  arrest  has  been  conducted  with 
the  greatest  foresight,  no  measures  will  be  neglected  to 
insure  your  conviction.  The  only  course  left  for  you  is 
to  endeavour  to  secure  the  sympathies  of  the  jury." 

"  I  thank  you  !"  said  Leuthold. 

Gretchen  had  been  standing  leaning  against  the  win- 
dow-frame, and  had  understood  more  than  Hilsborn  had 
intended  that  she  should.  The  waters  of  the  Alster 
were  still  rolling  below  her,  the  lights  were  sparkling, 
and,  in  the  terrible  silence  that  now  ensued,  the  music 
of  the  waltzes  in  the  pavilion  could  be  plainly  heard. 
Was  it  possible  that  there  was  no  change  outside,  while 
she  felt  as  if  the  world  were  crumbling  in  pieces  around 
her  ? 

Again  the  door  opened,  and  several  figures  appeared. 
Everything  swam  before  Gretchen's  eyes,  her  heart  beat 
as  though  every  throb  were  its  last.  An  official  entered, 
"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said  to  Hilsborn,  "  I  cannot  wait 
any  longer." 

Leuthold  looked  towards  the  door.  Two  police-offi- 
cers were  standing  outside,  and  Bertha  with  her  husband. 
And  who  were  those  ?  Other  figures  were  constantly  ap- 
pearing in  the  brilliantly  lighted  hall,  inmates  of  the 
house,  eager  to  witness  the  arrest.  And  was  he  to  be  led 
through  all  that  gaping,  staring  crowd  ?  He,  who,  with 
all  his  crimes,  had  always  preserved  appearances, — was 
he  at  last  to  be  as  it  were  held  up  to  public  contempt, 
dragged  through  the  lighted  passages  and  down  the  stair- 
cases by  policemen,  like  a  common  thief?  Of  course  there 
would  be  an  eager  crowd  below,  and  another  upon  his 

arrival  at  N .  His  only  road  now  lay  through  long 

rows  of  curious  faces,  dragged  from  examination  to  ex- 
amination, from  disgrace  to  disgrace, — he,  a  man  who  had 
always  preserved  an  outward  respectability, — until  he 
should  end  either  in  a  convict's  coat  or  the  strait-jacket  of 
a  madman!  The  time  for  reflection  was  over.  He  turned  a 
little,  only  a  very  little,  aside,  and  drew  a  folded  paper  from 


456  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

his  pocket, — it  did  not  take  a  moment,  no  one  observed 
the  motion.  And  what  else  ?  It  was  so  easy  to  put  his 
hand  to  his  lips  and  swallow  the  powder  that  the  paper 
contained,  far  easier  than  to  pass  through  that  brilliant 
hall,  through  that  murmuring,  staring  mob,  to  the  court- 
room, and  thence  to  a  jail !  Only  an  instant, — it  was 
done.  It  tasted  bitter,  and  he  drank  a  glass  of  water 
to  destroy  the  taste  upon  his  tongue.  Then  he  stepped 
up  to  Gretchen,  who  was  upon  her  knees,  her  face  buried 
in  her  hands.  "  Gretchen,"  he  said  almost  inaudibly, 
"forgive  your  unhappy  father  !" 

"Father?  Almighty  God,  I  have  no  father!"  burst 
from  the  lips  of  his  tortured  child. 

Leuthold  looked  at  her  with  dim  eyes.  "I  am  con- 
demned !"  was  all  he  could  say. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  officials.  "  Gentlemen,  at  such 
a  moment  as  this,  it  is  surely  natural  for  a  father  to  pro- 
vide for  the  future  of  those  whom  he  may  leave  behind 
him.  I  am  ill,  and  may  die  at  any  moment.  In  case  of  my 
demise,  therefore,  I  appoint,  before  all  these  witnesses, 
Herr  Professor  Hilsborn  my  daughter's  guardian,  as  I 
hold  her  mother,  who  survives  me,  entirely  unfit  in  every 
respect  to  be  her  guide  and  protector.  The  fact  of  her 
having  forsaken  her  daughter  at  a  tender  age,  and  never 
troubling  herself  to  inquire  concerning  her  afterwards, 
will  prove  the  justice  of  what  I  say.  I  pray  you, 
gentlemen,  to  attest  the  validity  of  this  my  last  will, 
when  the  hour  for  doing  so  arrives.  Observe  that  I  am 
at  present  in  full  possession  of  my  mental  faculties." 

The  by-standcrs  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  Bertha 
would  have  spoken,  but  her  husband  restrained  her. 

The  officer  said,  coldly  but  politely,  "  Your  direc- 
tions shall,  if  necessary,  receive  due  attention.  Rely 
upon  it." 

"  You  have  no  objections  to  make  ?"  Leuthold  asked 
Hilsborn. 

"  Your  wish  shall  be  sacred  to  me,"  the  young  man 
assured  him. 

"  And  now,  sir,  I  beg  for  one  great  favour,"  Leuthold 
whispered  to  the  officer.  "  Grant  me  one  half-hour's 
delay." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  457 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  have  waited  too  long  already." 

"  Only  one-half  hour,  sir,  for  the  love  of  Heaven, — a 
quarter  of  an  hour  !"  Leuthold  pleaded.  The  poison  was 
beginning  to  work.  His  knees  trembled,  his  gray  eyes 
were  glassy  in  their  sockets,  his  features  grew  rigid. 

"  Not  a  minute  longer  !"  the  official  replied  impatiently, 
and  beckoned  to  the  police-officers. 

"  Have  some  pity  !"  the  tortured  man  gasped  out  to 
Hilsborn.  "  I  have  taken  poison.  For  humanity's  sake, 
induce  him  to  let  me  die  here  with  my  child." 

"  Good  God  I"  exclaimed  Hilsborn.  "  Let  instant 
aid " 

Leuthold  clutched  his  arm,  and  with  a  ghastly  smile 
whispered,  "It  will  be  of  no  use,  my  friend  !" 

Hilsborn  was  horror-struck.  "Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  unite 
my  entreaties  to  those  of  Herr  Gleissert.  Allow  him  to 
remain  here  only  until  I  have  spoken  with  your  chief." 

"  If  the  arrest  is  an  unjust  one,  it  will  soon  be  at 
an  end.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.  I  must  obey 
orders. " 

Hilsborn  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear,  but  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Any  man  could  say  that.  We 
will  stop  at  a  physician's  as  we  drive  past.  That  is 
not  contrary  to  orders.  We  must  go  I"  The  policemen 
entered. 

Hilsborn  whispered  to  Leuthold,  "  I  will  bring  you  au 
antidote.  I  hope,  for  your  child's  sake,  that  you  will  take 
it.  God  have  mercy  on  you  !" 

Leuthold  would  have  replied,  but  a  spasm  prevented 
him  from  uttering  a  word. 

"Hilsborn  saw  that  the  poison  had  already  infected  the 
blood,  and  that  all  aid  would  come  too  late.  Nevertheless, 
he  would  do  what  he  could.  In  passing,  he  lightly 
touched  Gretcheu's  shoulder.  "  Friiulein  Gleissert,  your 
father  is  going.  Say  one  word  to  him." 

Gretchen  started,  as  if  from  a  swoon,  looked  around 
her,  and  saw  Leutbold  between  the  officers.  "  Father  !" 
she  shrieked,  and  rushed  towards  him.  She  clasped  him 
in  her  arms,  and  pressed  kiss  after  kiss  upon  his  blue  lips. 
Her  cries  wrung  the  souls  of  the  by-standers,  and  Bertha 
hurried  away,  that  she  might  not  hear  them. 

39 


458  ONLY  A    GIRL, 

"  I  take  back  what  I  said,"  Gretchen  moaned.  "  How 
could  I  say  I  bad  no  father?  Now  that  I  am  going  to  lose 
you,  I  feel  that  I  can  never  forsake  you !" 

Leuthold  writhed  in  agony  in  her  embrace,  but  he 
managed  to  speak  once  more.  "  My  child,"  he  gasped 
thickly,  "  if  there  is  a  God,  may  He  bless  you  !  and  when 
you  hear  that  your  father  took  his  own  life,  remember 
that  estate,  freedom,  honour,  were  gone  past  recall,  but 
that  by  his  own  act  he  at  least  avoided  a  public  expo- 
sure." 

Gretchen  gazed  at  him  speechless.  She  tried  to  reply, 
but  her  lips  refused  her  utterance.  She  only  knew  that 
her  father  was  taken  from  her,  and  that  stranger  hands 
loosened  her  frantic  clutch  of  his  garments.  She  heard 
footsteps  retreating,  a  door  closed,  and  there  was  silence. 
For  a  few  moments  she  lost  consciousness.  But  other 
noises  roused  her  from  the  fainting-fit  that  had  brought 
her  repose  from  grief,  and  recalled  her  to  herself.  Were 
the  footsteps  approaching  again  ?  Yes,  they  came  on  to 
the  door  of  her  room.  What  a  strange  murmur  mingled 
with  them!  She  raised  her  weary  head  with  a  mixture 
of  fear  and  hope. 

The  door  was  thrown  open  as  wide  as  it  could  go. 
Four  men  entered,  bearing  a  well-nigh  senseless  burden. 
Her  father  had  returned  to  her, — but  how  ?  They  laid 
him  upon  the  bed.  Gretchen  would  have  thrown  herself 
into  his  arms,  but  he  thrust  her  from  him  convulsively, 
for  her  clasping  arms,  her  loving  kiss,  were  tortures  too 
great  to  be  borne.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  in  vain.  Amidst 
frightful  spasms,  alternating  with  utter  exhaustion,  he 
breathed  his  last  sigh,  and  his  spirit  bore  its  burden  t>f 
guilt  to  new,  unknown  spheres  of  existence. 

He  had  avoided  all  "public  exposure." 

But  the  only  judge  that  he  had  acknowledged  upon 
earth, — his  child, — lay  crushed  at  his  feet,  expiating  the 
crimes  of  the  condemned. 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR  THE  SOUL.  459 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    ORPHAN. 

DAY  was  again  mirrored  brightly  in  the  waters  of  the 
Alster,  and  again  the  streets  swarmed  with  life.  The 
prattle  and  laughter  of  children  on  their  way  to  school, 
the  monotonous  cries  of  the  street-hawkers,  the  rattle  of 
passing  vehicles,  were  all  borne  aloft  into  the  quiet 
room  where  Leuthold  had  died,  and  where  Gretchen  still 
knelt  beside  the  bed,  and,  by  her  constantly  recurring 
bursts  of  grief,  showed  that  the  long  night  had  not  suf- 
ficed to  exhaust  the  fountains  of  her  tears.  Her  head  lay 
upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  her  arms  were  stretched 
across  the  empty  mattress, — for  the  host  had  insisted  upon 
the  immediate  removal  from  his  house  of  the  body  of  the 
suicide.  But  Gretchen  could  not  yet  be  induced  to  leave 
the  desolate  room,  the  vacant  couch.  Since  she  was  not 
allowed  to  follow  her  father's  corpse,  she  would  at  least 
pillow  her  head  where  he  had  lain.  She  repulsed  all  her 
mother's  advances.  When  everything  had  been  done  that 
the  law  requires  in  such  terrible  cases,  and  the  officials 
had  vacated  the  apartment,  she  shot  the  bolt  of  the  door 
behind  them,  and  thanked  God  that  she  was  alone  with 
her  misery,  alone  by  her  father's  death-bed. 

What  human  eye  can  pierce  the  depths  of  a  young 
heart  lacerated  by  such  anguish  ?  All  that  goes  on  in  the 
soul  at  such  moments,  when  the  creature  wrestles  with 
its  Creator,  must  remain  a  profound  mystery, — a  mystery 
known  to  almost  every  human  being,  but  never  to  be  re- 
vealed, no  mortal  language  can  declare  God's  revelations 
to  us  in  our  direst  need.  Experience  alone  can  enlighten 
us,  and  those  who  have  lived  through  such  a  time  can 
only  clasp  the  hand  of  a  fellow-sufferer,  and  say,  "  I  know 
what  it  is,"  and  henceforth  there  is  a  bond  between 


460  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

them  that  is  none  the  less  close  because  it  can  never  be 
explained. 

Thus  was  it  with  Gretchen  and  Hilsborn  when  the 
latter's  low  knock  at  the  door  aroused  the  girl  from  her 
grief,  and  she  arose  from  her  knees  and  admitted  him. 
She  put  her  hand  in  the  one  he  held  out  to  her,  and  looked 
confidingly  into  his  serious  blue  eyes. 

"  You  never  went  to  bed,  dear  Fraulein  Gleissert," 
said  he.  "  I  can  see  that." 

"  How  could  I  rest?"  she  replied.  "They  would  not 
even  let  me  watch  by  his  body.  All  that  I  could  do  was  to 
wake  and  pray  for  him  here  where  he  drew  his  last  breath. 
How  hard  it  is  to  have  to  leave  what  one  has  loved  so 
dearly,  and  not  to  be  allowed  to  cling  to  it  at  least  until  it 
is  consigned  to  the  earth !  Suppose  he  were  not  quite  dead. 
If  he  should  stir,  no  one  will  be  near  to  fan  the  spark  of  life 
into  a  flame.  If  he  should  open  his  eyes  once  more  and 

find  himself  alone,  and  then  die  in  helpless  despair 

Oh,  the  thought  is  madness  !" 

"I  can  assure  you,  Fraulein  Gleissert,"  said  Hilsborn 
quietly,  "that  your  father  sleeps  peacefully.  I  did  what 
you  were  not  permitted  to  do, — I  spent  the  night  by  his 
body." 

"  Could  you  do  this  for  the  man  for  whom  you  could 
have  had  no  regard  ?"  cried  Gretchen. 

"I  did  it  for  you.  I  could  imagine  all  you  felt,  and  I 
knew  it  would  be  some  comfort  to  you  this  morning  to 
know  that  I  had  done  it." 

"Oh,  how  can  I  thank  you,  sir?  I  am  too  childish 
and  insignificant  to  thank  you  as  I  ought.  My  heart  is 
filled  with  gratitude  that  will  not  clothe  itself  in  words! 
You  watched  by  my  father  from  pure  humanity, — com- 
pelled by  no  duty,  no  obligation, — only  that  you  might 
soothe  the  grief  of  a  poor  orphan.  I  cannot  express  what 

I  feel.  You  must  know "  She  could  go  no  further. 

Tears  gushed  from  her  eyes.  She  took  his  hand,  and, 
before  he  knew  what  she  was  doing,  had  imprinted  upon 
it  a  fervent  kiss. 

"Fraulein  Gleissert!"  cried  Hilsborn,  in  great  embar- 
rassment. And  a  deep  blush  overspread  his  cheeks. 

Gretchen  never  dreamed  that  she  had  committed  any 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  461 

impropriety, — how  could  she,  at  such  a  moment?  And 
Hilsborn  knew  this,  and  would  not  shame  her  by  hastily 
withdrawing  his  hand.  She  was  still  but  a  child,  in  spite 
of  her  blooming  maidenhood,  and  the  kiss  was  prompted 
by  the  purest  impulse  of  her  heart. 

"  You  reward  me  far  more  richly  than  I  deserve,"  he 
said  softly.  "  Although  it  is  long  since  I  suffered  the 
same  sorrow,  I  know  what  it  is.  Grief  for  the  death  of 
my  father  never  deserts  me.  Sorrow  easily  unites  with 
sorrow,  and  you  are  more  to  me  in  your  affliction  thau 
any  of  the  gay,  laughter-loving  girls  of  my  acquaintance. 
Let  me  do  what  I  can  for  you, — it  will  be  done  with 
my  whole  heart, — and,  -for  your  own  sake,  do  not  give 
way  to  grief.  Remember, — it  is  a  melancholy  consola- 
tion, nevertheless  it  is  a  consolation, — that  it  is  far  better 
for  him  to  die  before  his  crime  brought  its  dreadful  con- 
sequences. His  home  could  never  again  have  been  among 
honourable  men.  What,  then,  would  have  become  of 
you  ?  Believe  me,  it  is  better  as  it  is !" 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  my  father  does  not  deserve  these 
tears?  I  know  how  great  his  offences  were,  and  that 
every  one  is  justified  in  condemning  him, — every  one  but 
his  child, — I  cannot  blame  him.  Do  you  think  I  ought  not 
to  grieve  for  him  as  I  should  for  an  honourable  father  ?  Ah, 
sir,  is  it  less  sad  to  lose  a  father  thus,  just  as  I  was  reunited 
to  him,  to  find  that  he  whom  I  so  revered  was  a  criminal, 
and  to  have  him  vanish  in  his  sin  before  I  could  even 
breathe  a  prayer  to  God  for  mercy  upon  him  ?  Whatever 
he  may  have  done,  I  must  mourn  for  him  all  the  more, 
for  he  was  and  always  will  be  my  father.  And  there 
never  was  a  kinder  father.  Let  others  curse  his  memory, 
I  can  only  mourn  for  him.  If  the  holy  words  are  true, 
'  With  what  measure  ye  mete,  it  shall  be  measured  to  you 
again,'  I  must  give  him  nothing  but  love,  for  he  never 
meted  to  me  anything  else.  Do  not  despise  me.  I  do 
not  feel  his  guilt  the  less,  although  I  cannot  love  him 
less." 

Hilsborn  looked  down  at  her  with  admiration.  "  How 
can  you  suppose  that  I  could  despise  this  sacred  filial 
affection  ?  I  respect  you»all  the  more  for  it.  It  reveals 
in  you  treasures  of  womanly  tenderness !  Most  cer- 

39* 


462  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

tainly  he  who  had  such  a  daughter,  and  knew  how  un- 
worthy he  was  of  her,  is  doubly  to  be  pitied.  I  will  not 
try  to  console  you.  You  have  in  yourself  a  richer  con- 
solation than  any  that  mortal  words  can  give.  What  can 
such  a  stranger  as  I  say  to  you  or  be  to  you  ?  I  can  only 
stand  ready  to  protect  and  advise  you,  should  you  need 
advice  or  protection." 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  direct  my  first  steps  in 
life,  it  lies  all  so  untried  before  me,  my  poor  father  will 
bless  you  from  beyond  the  grave." 

She  paused,  startled,  for  the  door  opened  hastily,  and 
Bertha  entered.  She  regarded  her  daughter  with  a  satis- 
faction that  equalled  the  aversion  that  she  excited  in  her 
child.  Bertha's  beauty  had  been  of  a  kind  that  endures 
only  for  a  season  and  then  gradually  becomes  a  carica- 
ture of  its  former  self.  Her  fresh  colour  had  turned  to 
purple.  Her  mouth  had  grown  full  and  sensual,  with  a 
drooping  under-lip.  Her  sparkling  black  eyes  had  receded 
behind  her  fat  cheeks,  and  had  an  expression  of  low  cun- 
ning. An  immense  double  chin  and  a  round,  waddling 
figure  added  to  the  coarseness  of  her  appearance.  This 
was  the  woman  who  stood  ready  to  claim  affection  from 
a  daughter  whose  whole  education  had  tended  to  create 
disgust  at  her  mother's  chief  characteristic — coarseness. 
What  was  this  woman  to  her?  She  had  heard  that  she 
was  her  mother,  but  she  had  never  felt  it.  She  had  not 
seen  her  since  she  was  scarcely  five  years  old.  She  could 
feel  no  stirring  of  affection  for.  She  could  hardly  con- 
nect her  with  the  image  in  her  mind  of  her  father's  faith- 
less wife.  While  she  was  thus  regarding  Bertha  with 
aversion,  the  man  entered  the  room  whom  she  was  hence- 
forward to  consider  in  the  light  of  a  father, — her  mother's 
second  husband. 

Involuntarily  Gretchen  retreated  a  step  nearer  to  Hils- 
born,  as  if  seeking  in  him  a  refuge  from  the  pair. 

"Well,"  began  Bertha,  "if  Fraulein  Gretel  is  at  home 
to  young  gentlemen,  surely  her  father  and  mother 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Gretchen  gently  but  with  decision, 
"my  father  is  just  dead,  and  I  lost  my  mother  when  I 
was  very  young.  I  pray  you-  to  respect  my  grief  and 
not  mention  names  so  sacred  to  me." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  463 

"  Just  hear  the  girl !"  exclaimed  Bertha.  "  Instead  of 
thanking  God  that  she  still  has  parents  to  take  care  of 
her  and  not  feel  her  a  disgrace,  she  pretends  to  have  no 
other  father  than  the  thief,  the " 

"  You  must  not  speak  thus  in  Friiulein  Gleissert's 
presence,"  cried  Hilsborn  indignantly.  "Can  you  not 
see  how  you  wring  her  heart  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  thank  you,"  said  Gretchen  with  dignity. 
She  turned  to  Bertha.  "  Whatever  your  unfortunate  first 
husband  may  have  been,  he  was  my  father  in  the  truest 
sense  of  the  word,  and  no  one  can  have  a  second  father. 
Just  so  a  mother  who  has  once  ceased  to  be  such  can 
never  be  a  mother  again.  Call  me  false  and  heartless  if 
you  will, — God,  who  sees  my  heart,  knows  how  it  can 
love." 

"  This  is  all  one  gets  for  kindness,"  grumbled  Bertha. 
"  Here  have  I  been  beating  my  brains  half  the  night  to 
think  what  I  could  do  for  the  girl,  how  I  could  take  care 
of  her,  and  this  is  all  the  thanks  I  get !  Well,  it's  no  won- 
der. '  What's  bred  in  the  bone  will  never  come  out  of 
the  flesh.'" 

"Mammy!  mammy!  they  want  you  to  get  out  some 
clean  sheets,"  a  bullet-headed  lad  called  aloud  at  the  door. 

"  Come  here,  Fritz,"  cried  Bertha.  "There,  look  at  your 
sister."  And  she  drew  the  boy  towards  her,  evidently 
expecting  the  sight  of  him  to  produce  a  deep  impression 
upon  Gretchen.  "  Look,  Gretel,  this  is  your  brother, — 
doesn't  this  touch  you  ?  We  have  three  more  of  them. 
But  that  makes  no  difference,  you  shall  be  the  fifth  ;  I 
want  some  one  to  take  care  of  the  little  ones.  Only  think 
how  fine  it  is  for  you  to  find  parents  and  brothers  and 
sisters  all  at  once.  They'll  take  care  of  you."  And  sud- 
denly a  tear  rolled  down  her  fat  cheek.  "  For  you  are  my 
child,  after  all !" 

And  she  took  Gretchen's  face  between  her  hands  and 
pressed  upon  it  a  smacking  kiss.  The  girl  patiently  en- 
dured the  caress,  but  when  her  mother  released  her  she 
stood  erect  again,  like  a  fair  flower  upon  which  dust 
has  been  cast  without  robbing  it  of  its  fragrance  or 
soiling  its  purity.  As  the  flower  differs  from  the  soil 
whence  it  springs,  this  child  differed  from  her  mother. 


464  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

And  as  surely  as  the  flower  turns  from  the  ground  to  the 
sun,  the  girl's  pure  spirit  turned  from  her  mother  to  the 
light  that  her  education  and  training  had  revealed  to  her. 

"  Mammy,"  the  boy  persisted,  plucking  Bertha  by  the 
skirts,  "come,  hurry  1" 

"  You'll  tear  my  dress,  you  bad  boy  1"  cried  his  mother, 
slapping  his  hand. 

The  boy  screamed.  "  You're  so  slow  when  any  one  is 
in  a  hurry,  I  had  to  call  you." 

"  Hold  your  tongue !"  his  father  now  interposed.  "  Leave 
the  room.  What  will  your  new  sister  think  of  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  mind  her,"  said  the  boy  insolently,  as  he 
left  the  room. 

Gretchen  and  Hilsboru  exchanged  one  long  look.  It 
was  as  if  they  were  old  acquaintances  and  could  under- 
stand each  other  without  a  word.  Gretchen  shuddered  at 
the  thought  of  living  in  this  family,  and,  besides,  she  had 
during  the  night  formed  a  resolution  that  she  was  de- 
termined to  carry  out  although  it  should  cost  her  her 
life. 

Her  step-father  broke  the  silence.  "  We  shall  never 
come  to  any  conclusion  in  this  way.  Where's  the  good 
in  talking  ?  You  must  be  taken  care  of,  whether  you  like 
us  or  not.  You  might  at  least  show  some  gratitude  to 
us  for  taking  any  trouble  about  you."  He  stroked  bis 
smooth,  oily  head  as  he  spoke,  and  his  artistic  fingers 
gave  a  fresh  curl  to  the  lock  just  above  his  ear.  "  The 
case  is  simply  this  :  My  wife  thinks  it  her  duty  to  sup- 
port you.  As  you  may  suppose,  it  comes  rather  heavy 
upon  us  with  our  four  children,  and  it  stands  to  reason 
that  you  should  do  a  little  something  for  yourself.  We 
will  not  ask  anything  unsuitable  of  you,  for  I  can  see 
plainly  that  you  are  a  young  lady  of  education.  But,  if 
we  are  to  fulfil  the  duty  of  parents  towards  you,  it  is 
only  fair  that  we  should  claim  some  filial  duty  from  you 
in  return." 

He  concluded  his  speech  with  the  bow  that  he  always 
made  in  presenting  travellers  with  their  little  account. 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?"  said  Gretcheu,  greatly  relieved. 
"  Then  do  not  have  any  anxiety  on  my  account.  I  re- 
nounce all  claim  to  a  support,  and,  in  the  presence  of  this 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  465 

witness,  to  any  parental  duties  from  you.  I  ask  nothing 
of  you,  and  shall  never  ask  anything  of  you,  but  that  you 
will  allow  me  to  depart  without  hindrance." 

The  man  looked  significantly  at  Bertha,  who  clasped 
her  hands  in  amazement.  "  Do  you  want  to  go,  then  ? 
Why,  what  will  such  a  child  as  you  do  without  money  or 
friends  ?" 

Here  Hilsborn  interposed.  "You  forget  that  your  de- 
ceased husband  appointed  me  his  daughter's  guardian, 
and  I  assure  you  solemnly,  I  have  never  valued  my  life 
as  I  do  now  that  this  duty  is  mine, — a  duty  that  I  am 
determined  not  to  give  up." 

Gretchen  looked  confidingly  at  Hilsborn.  "You  see, 
I  am  not  without  friends.  I  will  go  with  this  gentle- 
man. There  is  but  one  path  for  me  in  this  world,  and 
that  leads  me  to  Ernestine's  feet.  There  is  but  one  duty 
for  me, — atonement  for  my  father's  sin.  I  cannot  restore 
to  Ernestine  what  has  been  taken  from  her, — that  I  learned 
from  the  papers  yesterday.  I  can  offer  her  nothing  but 
two  strong  young  arms  to  work  for  her.  The  Bible  says, 
'  The  sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited  upon  the  chil- 
dren,' but  I  will  not  wait  until  they  are  visited  upon  me. 
I  will  blot  them  out,  as  far  as  I  may,  and  make  the  curse 
powerless,  that  rests  upon  my  unhappy  father's  grave.  I 
will  do  what  he  had  no  time  to  do  here, — make  atonement 
for  his  crime."  She  raised  her  hands  to  Bertha  in  en- 
treaty. "  Oh,  if  you  are  my  mother,  open  your  heart  to 
the  first  and  last  request  of  your  child,  and  do  not  take 
from  me  the  hope  of  obtaining  pardon  for  my  father  by 
my  labour  and  suffering!" 

And  she  fell  upon  her  knees  before  Bertha,  who  sobbed 
aloud. 

"  Ah,  Gretel,  my  child,  you  are  a  dear,  good  girl. 
How  could  I  ever  forsake  such  a  true,  brave  child  ?  I  see 
now  how  wrong  and  foolish  I  was.  But  I  will  do  better. 
You  shall  learn  to  love  me  again.  Only  give  up  this  silly 
idea  of  doing  penance  for  your  father.  Why  should 
you,  innocent  creature,  suffer  for  his  fault?  you  are  not 
responsible  for  his  actions." 

"  I  am  his  flesh  and  blood,  a  part  of  him, — his  honour 
is  mine.  The  curse  that  strikes  him  strikes  me  too. 


466  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Whatever  burdened  his  conscience  weighs  upon  mine. 
Ho\v  could  I  find  rest,  living  or  dying,  if  I  did  not  do  all 
that  I  could  to  make  good  what  he  did  that  was  wrong  ? 
If  he  took  what  was  not  his,  ought  I  to  keep  it  ?  Is  it  not 
my  duty  to  restore  it?  And,  if  I  cannot  do  this,  should 
I  not  try  to  pay  the  debt,  although  I  can  do  so  in  no 
other  way  than  by  constant  labour  ?" 

"But  tell  me  what  you  want  to  do  Your  cousin 
has  nothing  more.  What  will  you  both  live  upon  ?" 
asked  Bertha. 

"  I  do  not  know  yet.  I  only  know  that,  thanks  to  my 
poor  father,  I  have  been  taught  everything  to  enable  me 
to  support  myself,  and  even  another  besides.  I  only  know 
that  I  will  dedicate  my  whole  future  life  to  Ernestine.  I 
long  to  go  to  her, — she  has  suffered  most  from  my  father's 
fault." 

The  head-waiter  drew  Bertha  aside,  and  whispered  to 
her,  "  Let  her  go,  be  thankful  that  we  have  not  a  fifth 
child  to  support." 

"  But,  oh,  I  love  the  girl  so  much  !"  said  Bertha. 

"  That's  all  very  well, — but  are  we  in  a  condition  to 
take  such  a  charge  upon  ourselves,  just  for  a  whim  ? 
And  do  you  suppose  that,  if  we  force  her  to  stay, 
this  spoiled  princess  will  be  of  the  least  use  to  us?  She 
would  cry  from  morning  until  night,  instead  of  working. 
Let  her  go  wherever  she  chooses.  You  have  done  with- 
out her  long  enough  not  to  make  such  a  fuss  now  about 
having  her  with  you.  I  should  think  four  children 
were  enough  for  you." 

"  Yes,  but " 

"  Hush,  now,  or  we  will  leave  the  room,"  her  husband 
whispered  emphatically.  "  I  will  not  burden  myself  with 
Dr.  Gleissert's  daughter  against  her  will.  Let  her  go 
with  her  new  champion,  and  let  us  hear  no  more  of  her  !" 

"As  you  choose,  then.  It  is  my  fault,  and  I  must  bear 
the  consequences,"  said  Bertha,  for  the  first  time  with  real 
sorrow. 

"  Frtiulein  Gleissert,"the  man  said,  turning  to  Gretchen, 
who  had  meanwhile  been  talking  in  a  low  tone  with 
Hilsborn,  "  if  you  will  not  make  any  claim  upon  us  here- 
after, we  are  ready  now,  hard  as  it  is,  to  relinquish  our 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  461 

rights  in  favour  of  this  gentleman,,  who  was  appointed 
your  guardian  by  your  father." 

"  I  will  promise  never  to  do  so,  sir,"  replied  Gretchen 
with  a  long  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  am  ready  to  give  you  all 
the  security  I  can." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that,"  replied  Herr  Meyer  politely, 
with  great  satisfaction.  "  You  know  that  the  giving  up 
of  our  claims  depends  upon  your  keeping  your  promise." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that." 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  not  trouble  you  further.  Proba- 
bly you  would  prefer  settling  the  account  for  this  room. 
It  is  not  much, — you  have  eaten  nothing." 

"  Come,  that  is  too  mean  of  you  1"  Bertha  here  inter- 
posed. "  Is  my  own  child  to  pay  for  the  shelter  of  this 
roof  for  one  night  ?  No,  I  will  not  have  it.  Gretel,  do 
not  listen. to  him, — you  shall  have  something  to  eat,  too, 
before  you  go.  I  am  not  quite  such  an  unnatural  mother. 
And  now  come,  Meyer,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
playing  such  a  disgraceful  part." 

And  half  angrily,  half  good-naturedly,  she  drew  her 
smart  husband  from  the  room 

"O  God,  I  thank  thee!"  cried  Gretchen  from  the  depths 
of  her  soul.  Suddenly  she  paused,  and  reflected  with 
evident  hesitation  and  embarrassment.  Hilsborn  took 
her  hand. 

"  Well,  my  dear  little  ward,  will  you  not  tell  me  what 
is  troubling  you  ?" 

Gretcben  blushed  and  still  hesitated.  At  last  she  con- 
quered herself,  and  confided  this  grief  also  to  her  faithful 
friend. 

"  It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
have  money  enough  to  pay  my  travelling  expenses.  I 
have  something  with  me  that  I  can  sell,  but  if  it  should 
not  be  enough  !" 

Hilsborn  smiled.  "  Is  that  all  ?  Oh,  never  mind  that, 
I  have  enough  for  both  of  us." 

Gretchen  looked  mortified.  "But  I  cannot  take  it  from 
you,  certainly  not." 

"  What,  Gretchen,  will  you  not  take  it  from  your  guar- 
dian ?  Why,  this  is  a  guardian's  duty.  And  I  will  not 
give  it  to  you,  I  will  only  lend  it,  and  you  can  repay  me 
when  vou  are  able." 


468  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

"You  will  have  to  wait  a  long  time, — I  have  so  little 
that  I  can  call  my  own.  It  will  embarrass  me  very  much 
to  be  in  your  debt." 

"Gretchen,"  said  the  young  man  earnestly,  "do  not 

let  us  speak  of  such  trifles.  I  transport  you  to  N , 

you  transport  me  to  heaven.  Which  owes  most  to  the 
other — you  or  I  ?" 

Gretchen  could  not  reply.  These  new,  strange  words 
bewildered  her.  The  sunlight  streaming  from  them  pene- 
trated her  heart,  crushed  by  the  tempest  of  grief  that 
had  swept  over  it.  The  blossom  opened, — she  was  no 
longer  a  child  1 

She  looked  down  in  confusion.  Hilsborn  too  was  em- 
barrassed. Neither  could  immediately  recover  from  a 
certain  constraint. 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  great  favour  ?''  the  girl  asked  at  last. 

"  Well  ?» 

"  Take  me  to  where  my  father  is  lying,  and  let  me  bid 
him  farewell  once  more." 

"  My  dear  Fraulein  Gleissert,  I  would  do  so  with  all 
my  heart,  but  it  would  take  us  half  an  hour  to  reach  the 
house  where  he  lies,  and  the  train  starts  in  three-quarters 
of  an  hour.  If  you  will  remain  here  another  day,  I  will 
do  what  you  ask." 

"  No,  oh,  no  !"  cried  Gretchen  in  alarm.  "  I  would  not 
for  the  world  trespass  any  longer  upon  Herr  Meyer's  hos- 
pitality, or  wound  my  mother's  new-found  affection  any 
further.  It  is  better  to  go  as  quickly  as  possible.  If  my 
poor  father  still  sees  and  hears  me,  he  must  know  that  I 
feel  the  pain  of  parting  from  him  thus  quite  as  much  as 
if  I  were  allowed  to  weep  beside  his  lifeless  body." 

"  That  is  right.  Better  dwell  in  thought  upon  the 
spirit  that  was  all  affection  for  you,  than  linger  beside  the 

senseless  clay  that  it  informed "  He  ceased,  for  Frau 

Bertha  entered  with  breakfast.  She  had  a  black  dress 
banging  upon  her  arm. 

"  There,  Gretel,  my  dear,  is  something  to  eat.  I  will 
not  let  you  go  until  you  have  taken  something.  And,  if 
the  gentleman  will  be  kind  enough  to  step  out  one  minute, 
we  will  try  on  this  dress.  You  must  have  some  mourn- 
ing, and  where  else  can  you  get  it,  poor  child  ?" 

She  spread  the  table  hastily,  and  Hilsborn  left  the  room. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  469 

"Now  come  here,  and  let  us  see  how  this  fits.  It  is 
the  very  dress  that  I  bought  ten  years  ago,  when  your 
step-uncle  Hartwich  died.  But  it  is  as  good  as  new.  I 
have  worn  it  but  little,  and,  if  you  put  the  skirt  on  over 
the  pointed  waist,  it  has  quite  a  modern  air.  Just  look! 
It  is  not  much  too  large.  I  was  smaller  then  than  I  am 
now,  and  I  have  taken  it  in  wherever  I  could.  I  was 
afraid  it  would  be  too  big  for  you.  Look  at  that  little 
spot, — that  is  where  you  threw  your  cake  into  my  lap 
when  you  were  a  little  thing.  I  hid  it  so, — -in  a  fold. 
Dear,  dear!  I  had  this  very  dress  on  when  I  left  you.  I 
never  thought  then  that  you  wrould  one  day  put  it  on 
and  leave  me,  as  I  was  leaving  you!" 

There  was  something  touching  in  these  simple  words, 
and,  for  the  first  time,  Gretchen  threw  herself  into  her 
mother's  arms  and  burst  into  tears.  "Gretel,"  said  Ber- 
tha, crying  bitterly,  "you  must  one  day  feel  that  you  are 
my  child,  just  as  I  feel  that  I  am  your  mother.  I  hope 
you  will  not  then  repent  leaving  me." 

"  Ah,  mother,"  sobbed  Gretchen,  "  how  could  you  be  so 
cruel  to  my  poor  father?  How  could  you  so  wring  my 
heart  when  1  first  saw  you  again  that  1  turned  away  from 
you?  I  might  have  learned  to  love  you.  A  child  must 
try  to  honour  its  parents.  I  would  never  have  reproached 
you  for  forsaking  me,  but  the  abyss  into  which  you 
plunged  my  father  lies  between  us,  and  can  never  be 
bridged  over." 

"  But,  Gretchen,  Gretchen,"  cried  Bertha,  "  I  have  done 
no  worse  than  the  young  gentleman  whom  you  think  so 
much  of.  Why  do  you  not  blame  him?" 

"  He  only  did  his  duty  by  a  friend,  and  performed  it  in 
the  kindest  way  possible.  My  father  sawr  that,  and  re- 
posed the  greatest  confidence  in  him  in  intrusting  me  to 
his  care.  But  you,  mother,  permitted  Herr  Meyer  to 
bring  the  stranger  here  who  came  to  hand  over  my  father 
to  punishment,  and  to  whom  my  father  was  only  the 
enemy  of  his  friend.  It  was  not  his  duty  to  spare  my 
father.  But,  mother,  he  had  once  been  your  husband,  he 
was  the  father  of  your  child,  and  yet,  when,  hunted  and 
pursued,  he  sought  the  shelter  of  your  roof,  you  had  the 
heart  to  betray  him  and  deliver  him  up  to  death  and  dis- 

40 


470  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

grace.  I  will  not  judge  you,  but  ask  yourself,  mother, 
did  be  deserve  such  treatment  at  your  hands  ?" 

"  Ah,  merciful  Heaven !  you  may  be  right,  but  it 
really  seemed  that  it  was  to  be  so.  I  had  forgotten 
everything  but  the  wrong  he  did  me.  He  has  had  his 
punishment,  and  I  must  have  mine,  for,  indeed,  to  love 
you  and  lose  you  so  is  a  heavy  trial." 

Hilsborn  knocked  at  the  door.  "  Frau  Meyer,  it  is 
almost  time  to  go." 

"Yes,  yes.  Come  in,"  cried  Bertha.  "Gretchen  is 
dressed." 

Hilsborn  entered.  He  regarded  compassionately  the 
touching  figure  in  the  black  dress, — the  lovely  childlike 
face,  with  those  sad,  large  eyes,  reminding  him  of  a 
wounded  doe's.  His  heart  overflowed  with  pity,  and  he 
held  out  his  hand,  with,  "  Come,  we  must  be  upon  our 
way." 

"I  am  ready,"  Gretchen  murmured. 

"Stop,"  cried  Bertha.  "You  must  take  something 
first."  And  she  poured  out  a  cup  of  chocolate,  and  fol- 
lowed Gretchen,  who  was  collecting  her  various  trifles 
for  her  travelling-bag,  about  the  room,  until  she  persuaded 
her  to  take  some  of  it.  "And  you  must  eat  some  of  this 
cake.  You  used  to  be  so  fond  of  it,  and  your  lamented, — 
well,  yes, — your  lamented  father  too.  Ah,  I  used  to  be 
well  treated  when  I  put  that  cake  on  the  table !  Will 
you  not  taste  it?  Well,  then,  take  some  with  you."  And 
she  crammed  as  much  of  it  as  she  could  into  the  girl's 
travelling-bag. 

One  minute  more,  and  Gretchen  was  ready  to  leave  the 
room.  "  Good-by,  mother,"  she  said,  throwing  herself 
once  more  into  the  arms  of  her  mother,  whose  hot  tears 
fell  upon  her  child's  neck.  "  I  will  never  forget  your 
kindness  to  me  to-day,  and  if  you  ever  need  me  you  will 
find  me  a  daughter  to  you." 

"  My  child,  my  good  child  !"  sobbed  Bertha.  "  Try  to 
think  as  well  of  me  as  you  can." 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear  mother.     God  bless  you  and  yours  I" 

Hilsborn  hurried  the  girl  away.  She  gently  extricated 
herself  from  her  mother's  arms,  and,  in  anguish  of  soul, 
descended  the  stairs  that  her  father  bad  on  the  previous 
day  ascended  for  the  first  and  last  time. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  471 

"  Write  to  me  now  and  then,"  Bertha  called  after  her. 

"Indeed  I  will,  I  promise  you." 

When  they  reached  the  hall,  they  found  there  a  crowd 
of  curious  idlers,  all  eager  to  see  the  suicide's  daughter. 
Gretchen  paused,  overcome  with  dismay.  She  could  hardly 
trust  her  limbs  to  bear  her  through  the  throng.  A  soft, 
warm  hand  clasped  hers, — it  was  Hilsborn's.  He  drew 
the  little  hand  under  his  arm,  and  led  her  through  the 
gaping  loiterers  to  the  carriage.  Gretchen  was  scarcely 
conscious,  she  only  felt  that,  supported  by  this  arm,  she 
could  raise  her  head  once  more,  and  she  was  filled  with 
gratitude  towards  the  man  who  did  not  shrink  from  thus 
espousing  the  cause  of  the  child  of  a  criminal. 

Herr  Meyer  made  them  a  formal  bow  as  they  entered 
the  carriage,  and  it  rolled  away  past  the  gay,  sparkling 
waters  of  the  Alster,  now  swarming  with  boats. 

Gretcben  looked  out  of  the  carriage-window.  Yester- 
day all  this  had  been  the  world  to  her, — to-day  her  world 
was  within,  and  all  this  was  mere  outward  show. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BLOSSOMS  ON  THE  BOEDER  OP  THE  GRAVE. 

"  COME  quick,  Johannes,  Hilsborn  has  arrived,"  the 
Staatsrathin  whispered  from  the  door  of  the  apartment. 
Johannes  was  seated  by  Ernestine's  bedside,  her  head 
leaning  upon  his  hand,  while  the  poor  girl  moved  rest- 
lessly from  side  to  side,  muttering  unintelligibly.  He  mo- 
tioned to  Willmers  to  take  his  place,  and  went  softly  out. 

"  Thank  God,  you  are  back  again.  Have  you  brought 
him  with  you  ?" 

"  He  has  escaped." 

"Hilsborn,  that  is  terrible  !" 

"  He  is  gone  whither  he  cannot  be  pursued,  and  whence 
he  can  work  no  more  mischief." 

"  Is  he  dead  ?" 


472  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  He  is  dead,  and  he  died  in  fearful  agony. 

"God  have  mercy  on  his  soul  1  Did  he  take  poison?" 
asked  the  Staatsrathin. 

"  Yes,  just  after  his  arrest.  I  arranged  matters  as  well 
as  I  could,  but  he  had  only  a  little  over  two  thousand 
gulden  in  his  possession.  He  had  put  all  the  property 
in  the  Unkenheim  factory." 

"  And  that  is  bankrupt,  so  we  shall  not  be  able  to  save 
anything  for  Ernestine,"  said  Johannes. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  that." 

"  But  Hilsborn,  faithful  friend,  I  am  quite  forgetting  to 
thank  you.  How  shall  I  repay  you  for  taking  this  jour- 
ney for  me  ?"  said  Johannes  warmly. 

"  I  am  already  paid." 

"Indeed?  AVhat  possible  pleasure  could  result  from 
such  a  mission  ?"  inquired  the  Staatsrathin. 

Hilsborn  smiled.  "  Such  pleasure  as  I  never  dreamed 
of.  Gleissert  bequeathed  me  a  treasure  whose  possession 
no  one,  God  willing,  shall  dispute  with  me.  May  I  show 
it  to  you  ?  I  would  like  to  intrust  it  to  your  keeping,  dear 
friends,  for  awhile." 

Johannes  and  his  mother  exchanged  looks  of  surprise. 
Was  Hilsborn  quite  right  in  his  mind  ? 

"  I  will  tell  you  nothing  more,"  he  said.  "  See  for  your- 
selves." He  left  the  room,  and  appeared  again  in  a  few 
moments  with  Gretchen  upon  his  arm.  The  poor  child 
ventured  only  one  timid,  beseeching  look  at  the  strangers, 
but  the  touching  expression  of  her  eyes  won  their  hearts 
immediately. 

"Good  God!  his  child?"  asked  the  Staatsrathin. 

"  His  child,"  Hilsborn  replied  with  grave  emphasis. 

The  old  lady  went  up  instantly  to  the  lovely,  shrinking 
girl  and  embraced  her,  saying  significantly  to  Hilsborn, 
"  Now  I  understand  you  !" 

"Dear  Fraulein  Gleissert,"  said  Johannes,  "you  are 
most  welcome,  and  you  must  allow  us  to  offer  you  a 
home  until  you  find  a  better." 

"You  are  too  kind,"  stammered  Gretchen.  "I  know 
how  bold  I  am,  but  my  guardian " 

"  What !  Hilsborn,  are  you  her  guardian  ?" 

"  Her  dying   father  wished  it   to  be   so,  and   there- 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  4f3 

fore  I  brought  her  here  to  place  her  under  your  pro- 
tection, although  she  wished  to  see  no  one  except 
Ernestine." 

"  She  can  hardly  see  her  for  sometime  yet,"  said  Mb'll- 
ner.  "  Ernestine's  fever  may  be  infectious." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?"  Gretchen  ventured  to  remonstrate. 
"  Then  pray  let  me  go  to  her.  Nothing  can  harm  me 
when  I  am  doing  my  duty.  Better  to  die  than  live  on 
without  being  permitted  to  do  as  I  know  I  ought.  Oh, 
dear  Herr  Hilsborn,  you  know  what  I  mean,  speak  for 
me!" 

"  Do  not  refuse  her,  Johannes.  She  will  not  be  con- 
tent until  she  is  with  Ernestine.  I  make  a  fearful  sacrifice 
in  exposing  her  to  this  danger,  when  I  would  guard  her 
like  the  apple  of  my  eye,  but  I  know  how  she  is  longing 
for  Ernestine." 

"  Then,  Fraulein  Gleissert,  you  shall  share  with  my 
mother  the  care  of  the  invalid  " 

"  Thank  you  all  a  thousand  times  1     May  I  go  now  ?" 
"  Take  her  to  Ernestine's  room,  mother  dear,  while  I 
speak  with  Hilsborn,"  said  Johannes. 

"  Come,  then,  my  child."  The  Staatsrathin  opened  the 
door  of  the  darkened  apartment,  and  the  girl  entered. 

Gretchen  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot.  There  lay  the 
dreaded,  mute  accuser  of  her  father,  the  unfortunate  vic- 
tim of  his  crimes,  pale  and  beautiful  as  an  ideal  embodi- 
ment of  death, — a  glorious  lily,  prostrated,  perhaps  never 
again  to  stand  erect,  by  the  same  hand  that  a  few  days 
before  had  been  laid  in  blessing  upon  Gretchen's  head. 
The  poor  child,  crushed  by  the  sight,  sank  upon  her 
knees,  and,  extending  her  arms,  cried  in  a  suppressed 
voice  of  agony,  "Forgive,  forgive  !" 

Ernestine  did  not  reply,  for  she  did  not  hear.  Reason 
was  dethroned  behind  that  pale,  broad  brow,  and  confused 
dreams  were  running  riot  there  in  the  wildest  anarchy. 

Only  when  Gretchen  perceived  that  Ernestine  was 
wholly  unconscious,  did  she  dare  to  approach  close  to 
her.  Gazing  at  her  with  admiring  pity,  she  murmured 
to  herself,  "  No,  my  father  did  not  understand,  or  he  ma- 
ligned you.  You  are  not  bad,  you  cannot  be  bad !"  And, 
kneeling,  she  breathed  a  gentle  kiss  upon  the  small  hand. 

40* 


474  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Did  the  invalid  feel  that  something  loving  was  near? 
She  put  out  her  hand  towards  the  kneeling  girl,  and, 
detaining  her  by  the  dress,  leaned  her  head  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"  She  will  let  me  stay  by  her,"  whispered  Gretchen  with 
a  face  of  delight. 

The  Staatsrathin  could  not  help  stroking  the  brow  of 
the  charming  child,  and  Frau  Willmers  felt  as  if  this  stran- 
ger were  an  angel,  come  to  lead  Ernestine  into  a  better 
world. 

"  Such  a  sick-room  I  like  to  see,"  suddenly  said  a  sup- 
pressed bass  voice  that  made  Gretchen  start.  "  This  is  a 
pretty  sight,"  it  continued,  and  old  Heim  looked  search- 
in  gly  at  Gretchen  from  beneath  his  bushy  white  eye- 
brows. 

The  girl  would  have  arisen,  but  Ernestine  would  not 
release  her,  and  Heim  motioned  to  her  to  be  quiet.  "  You 
have  one  hand  free,  my  child,  give  it  to  me.  I  am  your  guar- 
dian's foster-father,  and  I  know  what  a  good  child  you 
are.  The  fellow  was  right  to  bring  you  here, — I  would 
have  brought  you  myself.  God  bless  you  !" 

He  seated  himself  by  the  bedside,  and  a  deep  ex- 
pectant silence  reigned  in  the  room  as  he  felt  Ernes- 
tine's pulse.  Besides  Gretchen's,  two  other  anxious  eyes 
were  riveted  upon  his  face.  Mollner  had  just  entered 
noiselessly.  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  ?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

Heim  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  do  not  think  it  is 
typhus.  Nevertheless " 

Scarcely  had  the  invalid  heard  Johannes'  voice  when 
she  released  Gretchen  and  turned  her  face  towards  the 
spot  where  Mollner  was  standing.  He  approached  the 
bed  and  leaned  over  her.  She  put  out  her  arms  to  him, 
but  instantly  dropped  them  again,  as  if,  even  in  her  de- 
lirium, she  would  not  confess  herself  conquered.  And 
then  she  talked  wildly  on,  at  times  declaring  that  she 
could  not  get  rid  of  the  skull, —  it  would  follow  her 
everywhere,  and  then  pleading  piteously  that  she  was 
not  yet  dead,  and  they  must  not  put  her  down  into  the 
narrow  grave. 

"  This  is  the  result  of  a  woman's  giving  herself  up 
to  anatomical  studies,"  said  Mollner. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  475 

"  There  has  been  dreadful  work  with  the  nerves  here, 
and  with  the  brain  too,"  muttered  Heim.  "The  fever  has 
increased  since  I  have  been  sitting  here.  If  we  could 
only  disabuse  her  mind  of  these  delirious  fancies  !" 

"  I  have  tried  that,  but  contradiction  only  excites  her." 

"Let  this  child  try,  then.  It  is  impossible  to  say 
what  effect  she  might  produce,"  said  Heim.  "  Have  you 
the  courage,  my  child,  to  watch  with  your  cousin  to- 
night?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  think  I  can  never  touch  my  bed  until  Er- 
nestine has  left  hers." 

"There's  a  brave  girl!  upon  my  word,  I've  seen  no- 
thing so  charming  for  a  long  while.  She  will  soon  rival 
Ernestine  in  my  heart!" 

Johannes  laid  a  cloth  dipped  in  ice-water  upon  Ernes- 
tine's forehead,  who  continued  to  moan  bitterly  that  she 
was  not  dead  and  they  must  not  treat  her  thus. 

"  Ernestine,"  said  Qretcbea  in  her  clear,  bell-like  voice, 
"no  one  shall  harm  you.  Be  quiet,  dear." 

"Do  you  not  see,"  wailed  the  sick  girl,  "that  they  are 
trying  to  weigh  my  brain  ?  and  it  hurts !  oh,  how  it  hurts !" 

"  Ernestine,  you  are  dreaming,"  said  Gretchen.  "  This 
is  only  a  damp  cloth.  Feel  it  yourself." 

"  Remember  that,  although  I  am  dead,  my  soul  is 
living.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  stop  thinking  !  Dying  is 
nothing!  living  is  the  worst  of  all !" 

Johannes  turned  away,  and  wrung  his  hands.  "  Ah, 
Johannes  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  my  uncle's  knife  is  sharp,  I 
cannot  get  away.  Why  did  they  bind  me  here,  if  they 
thought  me  dead  ?"  And  in  an  instant  she  thrust 
Gretchen  aside,  and  would  have  leaped  from  the  bed, 
had  not  Johannes  gently  but  firmly  thrown  his  strong 
arm  around  her  and  forced  her  back  among  the  pillows. 

"  Let  me  go !  let  go  !"  she  moaned.  "  Who  ever  heard 
of  dissection  before  death  ?" 

"  Ernestine,"  Johannes  cried  in  despair,  "it  is  I, — Jo- 
hannes. No  one  shall  harm  you  !" 

But  she  either  did  not  hear  or  did  not  understand  him, 
and  she  struggled  so  that  Johannes  could  scarcely  hold 
her. 

"  This  is  dreadful  1"  said  the  Staatsrathin,  supporting 


476  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Gretchen's  tottering  form.  "Do  you  still  think,  Father 
Heim,  after  this,  that  physiology  is  the  study  for  a 
woman's  nerves?  Can  a  woman's  nature  take  a  more 
terrible  revenge  than  this?" 

Heim  shook  his  head,  and  grumbled,  "Frail  stuff,  in- 
deed, but  yet  I  thought  she  could  stand  it.  Well,  well, 
one  is  never  too  old  to  learn." 

And  still  Ernestine  raved  on,  ceaselessly  haunted  by 
the  same  grim  phantoms  created  by  the  fearful  struggle 
that  she  had  lately  passed  through. 

At  last  exhaustion  supervened,  and  she  lay  perfectly 
silent  and  motionless.  Heim  took  his  hat  and  cane.  "I 
think  she  will  have  a  quieter  night.  You  should  take 
some  rest,  Johannes.  You  cannot  stand  such  uninter- 
rupted watching." 

"  I  have  done  all  that  I  could  to  persuade  him  to  lie 
down,"  said  his  mother.  "  I  can  easily  watch  one  night, 
especially  now  since  I  have  such  a  dear  little  assistant. 
And  Willmers  too  will  wear  herself  out.  She  is  as  ob- 
stinate as  Johannes." 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  done  with  him,"  said  Heim. 
"It  is  a  good  thing  that  it  is  vacation,  or  this  would  soon 
come  to  an  end.  Well,  I  must  go.  It  is  quite  a  drive 
to  town." 

"It  would  have  been  better  if  we  could  have  taken  her 
home  with  us,"  said  the  Staatsriithin.  "  But  the  illness 
was  so  sudden  and  violent  that  she  could  not  be  moved, 
and  we  had  to  come  out  here  to  nurse  her." 

"  You  are  good  people!"  And  Heim  held  out  his  hand 
to  them.  "  God  will  reward  you  for  your  kindness  to  the 
poor  child." 

"  All  that  I  do,  dear  friend,  is  done  for  my  son's  sake. 
I  am  sure  he  will  tbank  me." 

"  Indeed  he  will,  mother,"  Johannes  declared  with  em- 
phasis. 

When  Heim  entered  the  next  room,  he  found  Hils- 
boru  there,  standing  at  the  window,  lost  in  dreamy 
reverie. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  will  you  have  a  seat  in  my  carriage?" 

"  Why,  father,  I  should  like  to  stay  here  to-day  and 
assist  Mollner,"  said  Hilsborn,  slightly  confused. 


OR  A    PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  477 

"  Assist  Mollner  ?  Hm "  Heira  paused,  and  riv- 
eted his  piercing  eyes  with  infinite  humour  upon  Hils- 
born's  blushing  face.  "Well,  well,  my  boy,  since  you 
wish  it,  pray  assist  Mollner.  You  have  my  free  consent 
to  do  so." 

The  young  man  clasped  his  foster-father's  hand  with  an 
emotion  of  gratitude  that  he  hardly  understood  himself 

"  Hm,"  said  Heim  again.  "  We  understand  !  we  un- 
derstand !  All  right!  Anything  else  would  be  unnatu- 
ral. There's  no  need  to  be  ashamed  of  your  choice. 
Good-night,  and" — a  good-humoured  smile  played  about 
his  mouth — "  do  assist  Mollner  diligently.  Do  you 
hear?" 

And  the  genial  old  man  went  chuckling  out  of  the  room. 

Hilsborn  bethought  himself  awhile,  then  looked  cau- 
tiously into  the  sick-room  and  beckoned  to  Gretchen.  She 
instantly  came  to  him. 

"  Only  a  moment,"  he  begged,  and  gently  drew  her 
away  with  him.  "You  must  have  a  little  fresh  air.  All 
the  others  think  only  of  Ernestine.  I  am  here  to  take 
care  of  you,  and  to  see  that  you  do  not  overtask  your 
strength.  Come,  take  a  few  turns  with  me  in  the  garden." 

"As  you  please,"  said  the  girl  meekly. 

"Not  as  I  please,  Gretchen.  You  must  not  talk  in 
that  way.  I  do  noi  like  it."  He  threw  a  shawl  over  her 
shoulders,  and  gave  her  his  arm.  Together  they  went 
down  into  the  garden. 

"  This  garden,"  said  Gretcheu,  "  reminds  me  of  ours  at 
the  pension." 

"Were  you  happy  there?"  asked  her  companion. 

"Oh,  very!  I  had  so  many  kind  teachers  and  com- 
panions !" 

"It  must  be  very  hard  for  you  to  leave  such  a  home." 

"  My  home  now  is  with  Ernestine.  I  am  content  only 
by  her  bedside.  I  wish  for  nothing  else.  I  do  not  choose 
to  wish  for  anything  else." 

Hilsborn  broke  off  a  fading  acacia-sprig  from  the  tree. 

"  Give  it  to  me  ?"  said  Gretchen.  "  I  will  try 
whether  Ernestine  will  recover  or  not."  And  she  pulled 
off  the  leaves,  one  after  another.  "Yes, — no, — yes, — no. 
Yes,  she  will  get  well !" 


4f8  ONLY  A    GIRL: 

"  Do  you  know  Faust?" 

"  No.     We  were  never  allowed  to  read  Goethe." 

"  Your  namesake  in  Faust  plucks  off  the  leaves  of  a 
daisy,  to  answer  a  question  that  she  puts  it,  but  the 
question  is  a  different  one." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  She  asks  whether  she  is  beloved." 

Gretcheu  looked  down. 

"Did  you  never  put  that  question  ?" 

"  How  could  I  ?  I  was  sure  that  my  father,  my  teach- 
ers and  friends  loved  me,  and  I  knew  no  one  else." 

"And  yet  you  must  often  have  consulted  your  flower 
oracle?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  There  was  plenty  to  ask, — whether  I  was  to 
take  the  first,  second,  or  third  rank  in  the  examination,— 
whether  I  was  to  have  a  letter  from  my  father  that  day, 
— and  ever  so  many  things  besides.  But  that  is  all  over. 
There  are  lew  flowers  or  questions  for  me  now." 

"  You  must  not  indulge  such  gloomy,  autumnal  fancies. 
The  flowers  will  bloom  again,  and  with  them  many  a 
youthful  hope  in  your  heart.  You  will,  perhaps,  one  day 
want  to  know  whether  one  whom  you  love  loves  you." 

Gretchen  looked  seriously  and  kindly  at  him  from  out 
her  brown  eyes. 

"  If  Ernestine  only  loves  me,  and " 

"  Well,  and ?» 

"  And  you,  I  will  ask  nothing  more." 

"Gretchen,  do  you  not  believe  that  I  love  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  you  do,"  the  girl  replied  frankly. 

"  By  the  good  God,  who  sees  all  hearts,  I  think  so  too," 
cried  Hilsborn,  clasping  the  little  hand  that  lay  upon  his 
arm  more  closely  to  his  heart. 

They  stood  still  for  one  moment  together  in  the  gather- 
ing twilight,  arid  then  walked  slowly  on.  It  was  an  un- 
usually mild  autumn  evening.  The  crescent  of  the  new 
moon  glimmered,  like  a  gleaming  diamond  upon  dark  locks, 
just  above  the  tall  firs  that  crowned  the  hill  that  had  been 
Ernestine's  favourite  spot.  As  she  looked  up,  Gretchen's 
eyes  were  moist. 

"The  moon  is  the  sun  of  the  unhappy,"  she  said  sud- 
denly. "Hers  is  the  only  light  that  weeping  eyes  can 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  479 

endure.  They  must  close  in  the  garish  rays  of  the  sun, 
but  they  can  look  up  to  her  through  their  tears.  When 
she  reigns  in  the  sky,  repose  cornes  to  the  weary  after  the 
day's  dull  pain.  And  you,  my  kind  guardian,  seem  to 
me  like  the  moon, — you  are  so  calm  and  still.  I  shrink 
from  the  others,  it  seems  to  me  they  must  despise  me, 
but  with  you  I  can  weep  freely,  and  rest  from  all  my 
pain." 

"I  thank  you,  Gretchen,  for  these  words,"  said  Hils- 
born. 

And  the  girl,  in  the  self-abandonment  of  her  grief, 
leaned  her  head  upon  Hilsborn's  shoulder  and  wept  si- 
lently. 

Thus  they  walked  slowly  on  for  a  time,  without  a  word. 
The  moon  began  to  disappear  behind  the  firs,  and  only 
gleamed  through  them  when  the  night  breeze  stirred 
their  boughs.  A  low  whisper, — a  soft  suggestion  of  the 
resurrection, — trembled  among  the  withered  leaves  and 
leafless  branches.  The  little  silver  skiff  glided  quietly 
down  the  horizon,  and  misty  vapours  floated  about  the 
youthful  pair  like  a  bridal  veil.  Their  innocent  hearts 
mourned  over  scarcely-closed  graves  in  the  midst  of  na- 
ture, enlivened  by  no  young  blossoms,  no  nightingale's 
song,  and  yet  a  future  spring  was  gently  stirring  around 
and  within  them,  amid  tears  and  autumn  desolation. 

"  We  must  return,"  said  Gretchen,  suddenly  rousing 
herself  from  her  sad  thoughts.  "  They  will  miss  us." 
And  she  hastened  on  in  advance  of  hor  friend.  At  the 
door  of  the  sick-room  he  detained  her  for  one  moment. 
"  Gretchen,  you  have  done  more  than  I  can  tell  for  me  in 
this  last  half-hour,  but  yet  not  enough.  You  will  give 
me  just  such  another  every  evening,  will  you  not?" 

"  With  all  my  heart!" 

"And,  Gretcben,  I  shall  pass  this  night  watching  here 
in  this  room.  Come  to  the  door  now  and  then,  and  give 
me  one  look." 

"Why?"  she  asked,  with  a  blush. 

"  Because  your  face  is  the  dearest  sight  in  the  world  to 
me." 

"Ob,  I  am  glad  of  that!"  she  faltered. 

"Remember  sometimes  to  give  me  a  smile, — will  you 


480  ONLY  A    GIRL  ; 

not?  I  shall  wait  for  it  from  minute  to  minute  and  from 
hour  to  hour." 

"  You  shall  not  wait  in  vain.  How  could  I  refuse  to 
gratify  a  wish  of  yours?" 

And  with  these  words,  that  were  more  to  the  young 
man  than  she  herself  dreamed  of,  she  left  him,  and  en- 
tered the  sick-room  with  her  heart  filled  with  mingled  joy 
and  pain. 

Johannes  was  kneeling  by  the  bed,  his  forehead  leaning 
upon  Ernestine's  arm,  that  was  hanging  down  outside  the 
coverlet.  His  mother  gave  Gretchen  a  kindly  nod.  No 
one  ventured  to  speak.  Ernestine  seemed  asleep. 

Gretchen  sat  down  beside  the  Staatsrathin  and  grate- 
fully pressed  her  offered  hand. 

Thus  they  sat  for  an  hour,  motionless,  and  then  Ernes- 
tine had  a  fresh  access  of  delirium.  Her  whole  illness 
seemed  to  be  only  a  vain  effort  of  nature  to  banish  the 
evil,  unnatural  ideas  nestling  in  her  brain  like  destructive 
parasites.  At  last  Johannes  induced  his  mother  and 
Willmers  to  take  a  little  rest  while  he  and  Gretchen 
watched.  He  suffered  so  much  at  the  sight  of  Ernestine's 
sufferings  that  it  was  a  relief  to  him  to  know  that  his 
mother  was  not  in  the  room, — his  mother,  in  whose  pres- 
ence his  affection  forced  him  to  exercise  such  difficult 
self-control. 

Gretchen  was  a  faithful  assistant,  although  the  poor 
child's  heart  was  well-nigh  broken  at  the  constant  refer- 
ence to  her  father  that  filled  Ernestine's  ravings.  Frag- 
ments of  the  past  were  brought  to  light,  detached  scenes 
rehearsed  incoherently,  but  running  through  all  the  un- 
fortunate daughter  could  perceive  the  dark  crimson  thread 
of  her  father's  guilt. 

The  hot  tears  coursed  down  her  cheeks.  Johannes 
never  noticed  them  He  had  eyes  and  ears  only  for  Er- 
nestine. The  poor  orphaned  child  felt  alone  indeed.  But 
no!  How  could  she  entertain  such  a  thought?  Had  she 
not  a  friend  and  protector  near  ?  And  had  she  not  prom- 
ised to  bestow  a  kindly  glance  now  and  then  upon  the 
faithful  sentinel?  How  could  she  forget  him  for  one  mo- 
ment? While  Johannes  stood  by  Ernestine,  she  softly 
opened  the  door  and  looked  out.  There  he  sat,  his  eyes 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  481 

full  of  expectation,  and  a  bright  smile  broke  over  his 
face  at  the  sight  of  Gretchen.  He  started  up  and  tore  a 
leaf,  upon  which  he  had  been  writing,  out  of  his  note-book. 

"  Gretchen,"  he  whispered,  "  here  is  something  for  you. 
Take  it,  as  it  is  meant, — kindly.  You  are  having  a  hard 
night.  I  can  imagine  all  you  are  suffering.  Do  not  for- 
get that  there  is  one  sitting  here  thinking  of  and  for  you." 

Gretchen  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  put  the  paper  into  it. 

"  I  thank  you,  even  before  I  know  what  it  contains," 
she  whispered  in  reply.  "It  must  be  something  kind, 
since  it  conies  from  you."  And  she  re-entered  the  sick- 
room and  seated  herself  by  the  table  upon  which  the 
night-lamp  stood.  She  shivered,  for  Ernestine's  words 
were  all  full  of  horror.  But  she  held  a  talisman  in  her 
hand,  and  Hilsborn's  handwriting  banished  all  haunting 
sorrow.  She  unfolded  the  paper  and  read: 

"Weep,  poor  heart,  and  yet  again 
Breathe  those  gentle  songs  of  sadness, 
Not  for  thee  are  notes  of  gladness, 
Softly  fall  thy  tears  like  rain. 
Look  to  heaven  when  woes  thus  move  thee, 
From  the  eternal  stars  above  thee 
Comfort  seek  in  earthly  pain. 

"  Weep,  poor  heart,  when  all  in  vain 
Thou  hast  hoped  for  rest  from  sadness, 
When  the  stars  rain  down  no  gladness. 
Yet  despair  not !  once  again 
Lift  thine  eyes  when  sorrow  moves  thee, 
In  the  eyes  of  one  who  loves  thee, 
Comfort  seek  in  earthly  pain." 

Gretchen  sat  with  hands  folded,  looking  at  these  words, 
that  arched  a  new  heaven  above  her  and  revealed  a  new 
earth  around  her.  Large  as  her  young  heart  was,  it 
seemed  all  too  narrow  for  the  flood  of  tenderness  that 
filled  it  now.  She  arose  once  more,  and  glided  from  the 
room.  To  Johannes,  who  gazed  after  her  absently,  it 
seemed  as  if  her  airy  figure  actually  diffused  a  light 
around  it. 

In  the  next  room  she  approached  Hilsborn,  silently, 
her  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  and  held  out  her  hand.  He 
looked  up  at  her  with  imploring  entreaty,  saw  how  she 
was  agitated,  and  that  her  heart  was  beating  almost  to 

41 


482  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

suffocation.  He  gently  drew  her  nearer  and  nearer  to 
him,  uutil,  like  ripened  wheat  awaiting  the  reaper's  scythe, 
she  sank  into  his  arras,  and  burst  into  tears.  But  her 
tears  were  like  the  glittering  drops  that  the  breeze  shakes 
from  the  trees  after  a  summer  rain. 

"  In  the  eyes  of  one  who  loves  thee, 
Comfort  seek  in  earthly  pain," 

echoed  in  the  hearts  of  the  lovers. 

Then  Ernestine's  voice  came  ringing  through  the  open 
door.  "  What  is  the  end  ?  Eternal  night,  eternal  silence, 
and  eternal  solitude !" 

"  Oh,  nol  eternal  bliss  !"  Gretchen  breathed  softly  to 
herself. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IT  IS  MORNING  AGAIN. 

A  CALL  from  Mollner  to  Gretchen  separated  the 
young  people  before  they  found  words  to  express  what 
they  felt.  Ernestine  grew  so  much  worse  in  the  course 
of  the  night  that  Gretqhen  did  not  leave  her  again.  When 
at  last  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  shone  through  the 
heavy  curtains  of  the  room,  the  Staatsriithin  released  the 
poor  child  from  her  painful  watch,  and  she  was  free  to 
hasten  to  her  lover.  He  drew  her  with  him  to  Ernes- 
tine's study.  Everything  was  just  as  it  had  been  left  on 
the  day  when  Ernestine  was  taken  ill, — nothing  had  been 
touched  here.  The  ashes  of  the  burnt  fairy-book  were 
still  lying  on  the  hearth,  the  ^Eolian  harp  breathed  forth 
sad  melody  to  the  rude  autumn  wind,  the  roses  were 
fled,  and  only  the  thorn-covered  bushes  remained.  The 
chests  were  still  standing  about,  all  packed  for  the  voy- 
age,— speaking  plainly  of  what  had  been  the  plans  of  the 
proud  spirit  now  so  prostrated  by  disease.  A  forgotten 
pen  lay  upon  the  desk,  and  dust  was  everywhere.  No  one 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  483 

had  thought  of  arranging  this  room, — care  for  Ernes- 
tine had  given  abundant  occupation  to  the  entire  house- 
hold. The  pause  in  the  life  of  the  invalid  was  mirrored 
in  this  apartment,  where  everything  seemed  awaiting  the 
moment  when  a  busy  hand  should  sweep,  dust,  and  put 
all  in  order,  and  the  glad  news  be  heard — "Ernestine  is 
better  !"  But  this  moment  was  still  in  the  dim  future. 
Hither  the  young  couple  came,  ignorant  of  the  struggles 
these  walls  had  witnessed,  the  pain  and  anguish  that  had 
been  suffered  here. 

"  Our  life  lasts  seventy — perhaps  eighty — years,  and 
the  delight  of  it  is  labour  and  trouble."  These  words, 
carved  on  the  table,  were  the  first  visible  sign  to  these 
youthful  hearts  of  the  struggles,  sufferings,  and  sacri- 
fices of  the  woman  by  whose  feverish  bed  they  had 
truly  found  each  other.  And  Gretchen  stayed  her 
steps  by  the  table,  and  read  the  words  thoughtfully. 
"  She  is  right,"  she  said  to  herself.  "And  if  she  chose  to 
impose  upon  herself  this  severe  law,  can  I  choose  any 
other  motto — I?  What  right  have  I  to  desire  any  other 
delight  in  life  but  labour  and  trouble  and  penance?  Ah, 
Ernestine,  now  first  I  see  how  noble  you  are,  and  what 
wrong  my  father  did  you." 

"  Gretchen,"  asked  Hilsborn,  "  what  are  you  thinking?" 

"It  seems  to  me  as  if  an  invisible  hand  here  inscribed, 
'  Hold !'  for  my  eyes  alone.  How  could  I  for  one  mo- 
ment resign  myself  to  the  thought  of  a  happiness  that 
could  turn  me  aside  from  my  first  and  most  sacred  duty?" 

"Gretchen,  how  am  I  to  understand  you  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and,  with  eyes  fixed  reveren- 
tially upon  the  carved  motto,  said,  "  All  my  hopes  and 
dreams  must  be  sacrificed  for  her  whose  motto  this  is. 
Until  she  is  happy,  how  can  I  wish  to  be  so?" 

"  I  see  what  you  have  resolved,  my  dearest.  You  in- 
tend to  obtain  forgiveness  for  your  father,  to  blot  out  his 
sin  by  your  devotion.  But  you  think  only  of  her  against 
whom  your  father  sinned  most  heavily?  There  is  another 
to  whom  you  owe  some  reparation  on  his  account,  and 
that  is  myself!" 

"What?" 

He  drew  her  towards  him,  and  went  on  with  all  a  lover's 


484  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

sophistry.  "  Yes,  dearest,  your  father  wronged  mine.  He 
robbed  him  of  a  valuable  scientific  discovery." 

"  Heaven  help  me  !  is  this  so  ?"  cried  the  girl,  greatly 
distressed. 

"And  do  you  not>  see  that  it  will  be  no  infringement 
of  the  duty  that  you  impose  upon  yourself,  if  you  grant 
me  the  reparation  that  I  ask  of  you,  even  although  I 
should  ask  for  nothing  less  than  yourself, — your  entire 
life,  Gretchen, — would  you  think  me  too  bold  ?  would 
you  think  the  compensation  for  what  your  father  deprived 
me  of  too  great  ?" 

"No,  oh,  no!  much  too  small,"  whispered  Gretchen, 
with  glistening  eyes. 

"  Not  too  small.  I  know  it  is  too  great.  But  love, 
Gretchen,  will  not  weigh  deserts.  Everything  is  in  your 
hands,  dearest.  Your  father  injured  my  father,  but  he 
gives  me  his  child." 

The  girl  put  her  hands  to  her  throbbing  brow.  "  Can 
this  be  so? — can  so  great  a  blessing  spring  from  a  curse  ? 
I  do  not  deserve  such  joy.  Can  it  be  no  wrong,  but  a 
duty,  to  love  you,  whom  I  would  have  renounced  for 
duty's  sake  ?  I  longed  to  labour  and  suffer  for  my  father's 
crime,  and  is  this  my  penance — to  give  myself  to  him  whom 
I  love  ?  It  is  too  much, — I  cannot  believe  it.  But  what 
shall  I  do  ?  How  shall  I  reconcile  my  duty  to  Ernestine 
and  to  you  ?  Help  me,  advise  me,  that  I  may  not  neglect 
one  duty  for  the  sake  of  the  other, — there  can  be  no  true 
happiness  without  a  clear  conscience.  Help  me,  then,  to 
be  really  happy." 

"My darling,"  said  Hilsborn,  "I  understand  you  now, 
just  as  I  have  always  understood  you,  and  I  will  help  you  to 
satisfy  your  conscience.  If  I  could,  I  would  shower  every 
precious  gift  upon  you, — how  then  could  I  deprive  you 
of  that  priceless  possession — peace  of  mind  ?  True  love 
brings  true  peace  in  its  train,  and  this  peace  shall  be  yours. 
Therefore  do  for  Ernestine  all  that  your  heart  dictates,  as 
long  as  you  can  be  of  service  to  her.  I  shall  be  near 
you,  and  we  can  at  least  exchange  a  word  now  and  then. 
True  love  is  easily  content,  it  prizes  even  the  smallest 
token.  I  will  not  claim  one  moment  that  you  think  be- 
longs to  Ernestine, — that  would  trouble  you.  We  will  tell 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  485 

no  one  as  yet  of  our  betrothal  but  my  faithful  foster- 
father  Heim,  without  whose  blessing  1  can  take  no  step 
in  life.  The  knowledge  of  oui'  happiness  might  grate 
upon  poor  Mollner,  who  has  so  much  to  endure.  But 
when,  Gretchen,  Ernestine  lias  entirely  recovered,  it  will 
be  ours  to  enjoy  our  bliss  without  a  pang.  And  if, — which 
I  can  scarcely  believe, — she  should  still  refuse  to  share 
Mb'll tier's  lot,  then,  I  swear  to  you,  I  will  aid  you  truly 
in  all  that  you  do  for  her.  She  shall  live  with  us  and  be 
to  me  as  a  sister.  Is  not  this  all  that  you  desire,  my 
dearest  one  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  read  my  very  soul,  for  I  could  never 
consent  to  be  your — wife,  until  I  knew  that  Ernestine 
was  well  and  content.  And  I  have  hardly  thought  myself 
grown  up — I  am  hardly  fit  to  be  a  wife.  How  can  I  ac- 
custom myself  to  the  thought  ?"  " 

"I  will  do  all  I  can  to  teach  you,  dear  little  wife, — 
the  lesson  will  not,  I  hope,  be  hard  to  learn,"  said  Hils- 
born  gaily. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Gretchen  replied,  and  for  the  first 
time  there  was  an  arch  sparkle  in  the  melancholy  brown 
eyes. 

Thus  these  two  hearts  were  united,  speedily,  in  child- 
like faith,  after  the  manner  of  youth,  and  without  a  strug- 
gle. But  above  in  the  sick-room  two  hearts  were  wrest- 
ling in  mortal  pain.  Love,  for  poor  Ernestine,  must  attain 
the  light  only  through  the  dark  night  of  error  and  illu- 
sion that  was  around  her, — that  light  in  which  Gretchen 
and  Hilsborn  innocently  basked,  driven  from  their  Eden 
by  no  angel  with  the  flaming  sword.  Such  strong  natures 
as  Mollner's  and  Ernestine's  could  not  unite  without  a 
struggle.  Each  had  framed  a  world  for  itself,  and  one 
of  these  worlds  must  be  shattered  before  they  could 
become  one  world.  The  farther  apart  they  were,  the 
more  powerful  the  attraction  between  them,  the  more 
certainly  would  the  weaker  crumble  to  pieces  in  con- 
tact with  the  stronger.  It  is  the  mysterious  condition 
under  which  gifted  natures  receive  their  talents  from  God, 
that  they  must  strive  and  labour  for  a  happiness  that 
often  falls  unsought  into  the  lap  of  weaker  natures. 
Thus  Eternal  Wisdom  maintains  the  balance  of  its  gifts, 

41* 


486  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

— the  weak  and  the  simple  receive  without  asking  what  the 
strong  must  earn.  And  these  two  gifted  creatures  were 
earning  hardly  their  portion  of  life's  joy,  that  they  might 
fulfil  the  law  prescribed  by  God  for  creatures  so  consti- 
tuted. His  laws  are  inscribed  not  upon  the  heavens, 
but  in  the  human  heart,  and  all  our  striving  for  perfec- 
tion is,  in  fact,  only  an  endeavour  to  read  these  laws  cor- 
rectly. And  how  often  do  we  read  them  falsely,  in  spite 
of  all  our  honest  pains  ! 

How  much  more  was  this  the  case  with  one  like  Ernes- 
tine, who  had  never  been  taught  to  heed  the  still  small 
voice  in  her  heart  as  the  voice  of  God!  All  her  errors 
and  sufferings  were  the  result,  as  are  those  of  most  men, 
of  a  misconception  of  the  Divine  will.  If  she  had  known 
that  she  was  destined  to  purchase  happiness  by  self-sacri- 
fice, she  would  have  paid  for  it  voluntarily,  and  would  not 
have  wrestled  with  her  destiny  to  the  last,  until  she 
almost  succumbed  in  the  conflict.  Her  life  had  well- 
nigh  been  ruined  by  the  want  of  true  Christian  culture  ; 
she  was  ready  to  make  eveiy  sacrifice,  except  that  which 
is  alone  well  pleasing  in  God's  sight — the  sacrifice  of 
self. 

And  Johannes,  true  and  without  guile  as  he  was,  en- 
dured a  terrible  trial  in  Ernestine's  sufferings.  From 
hour  to  hour  he  became  more  thoroughly  convinced  that 
he  had  been  the  means  of  prostrating  Ernestine  upon  a 
sick-bed, — that  he  had  burdened  her  beyond  her  strength 
by  his  reckless  description  of  the  danger  that  threatened 
her, — and  he  was  a  prey  to  remorse.  He  reproached  him- 
self bitterly,  and  tormented  himself  with  devising  a  thou- 
sand ways  in  which  he  could  have  managed  matters  more 
wisely.  "  It  is  presumptuous  to  attempt  to  play  the  part 
of  Providence  to  another,  for  the  best  intentions  are  no 
warrant  for"  the  consequences,"  he  said  to  his  mother, 
just  when  Gretchen  and  Hilsborn  were  weaving  their 
rosy  future. 

"  Results  are  always  in  God  s  hand,"  replied  Fran 
Mollner. 

"Amen  !"  said  Johannes  solemnly,  from  the  depths  of 
his  tortured  heart. 

Thus  the  pilot,  seeing  looming  before  him  the  dangerous 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  48f 

rock,  past  which  his  skill  has  not  availed  to  guide  the 
vessel  intrusted  to  his  care,  says,  "I  have  done  what  I 
could,  now  Providence  takes  the  helm."  And  here  too 
Providence  was  guiding  the  vessel,  but  slowly, — so  slowly 
that  the  lookers-on  were  agonized. 

Day  after  day  and  week  after  week  passed,  without  any 
visible  improvement.  Ernestine's  consciousness  did  not 
return.  Hcira  shook  his  head.  He  said  to  Johannes  one 
morning,  "I  wish  your  brother-in-law  were  at  home, 
Johannes.  I  should  very  much  like  to  hear  his  opinion 
of  the  case." 

And  he  made  no  other  reply  to  Johannes'  inquiries. 

Moritz  Kern  and  his  wife  had  been  employing  the  va- 
cation in  a  pleasure-trip,  and  were  shortly  to  return  home. 

It  looked  as  if  Heirn  were  coming  to  a  conclusion,  and 
did  not  wish  to  pronounce  an  opinion  without  consulting 
a  third  authority. 

Johannes  was  consumed  by  anxiety.  For  four  weeks 
he  never  left  Ernestine's  bedside,  only  sleeping  when  ske 
was  quiet,  and  then  with  his  weary  head  supported 
against  the  back  of  his  chair.  He  would  have  no  help, 
except  from  his  mother  and  Gretchen.  Even  Willmers 
was  not  allowed  to  do  all  that  she  wished  to  do.  Only 
one  stranger  was  now  and  then  admitted  to  the  sick-room, 
— a  venerable,  aged  form,  that  sat  there  motionless,  dis- 
turbing no  one.  It  was  old  Leonhardt.  Every  third  day 
his  son  conducted  him  to  the  castle,  and  no  one  had  the 
heart  to  refuse  to  allow  him  to  take  his  place  at  the  foot 
of  Ernestine's  bed,  where  he  listened  to  her  gloomy 
ravings  and  Mollner's  deep-drawn  sighs,  and  only  now 
and  then  sadly  shook  his  gray  head. 

"  If  she  would  only  come  to  herself  sufficiently,"  he 
said  one  day,  "to  let  us  relieve  her  mind  of  this  anxiety 
about  dying,  that  seems  at  the  root  of  her  delirium,  she 
would  soon  be  better." 

"  True,  Father  Leonhardt,  true,"  replied  Johannes. 
"But  she  has  not  one  sane  instant.  It  drives  me  to 
despair !" 

"  Courage,  courage,  dear  friend,"  said  Leonhardt,  "  and, 
remember,  you  only  did  your  duty.  That  thought  must 
comfort  you." 


488  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  comfort  me  long,"  was  Jo- 
hannes' gloomy  reply. 

While  they  were  speaking,  Heim's  carriage  drove  up. 
This  time  he  was  not  alone, — Moritz  was  with  him. 
Leonhardt  retired  to  the  library,  where  Walter  always 
awaited  him,  and  Heim  and  Moritz  entered  the  ante- 
chamber. Gretchen  and  Hilsborn  were  standing  whis- 
pering together  by  the  window.  The  former  hastily  left 
the  room,  embarrassed  by  the  entrance  of  the  stranger 
with  Heim. 

"Who  the  deuce  is  your  pretty  companion?"  asked 
Moritz  in  surprise. 

"  It  is  my  ward,  Gleissert's  unfortunate  daughter," 
Hilsborn  explained  with  some  reserve.  "  I  brought  her 
hither  from  Hamburg." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know, — heard  all  about  it.  Guardian, 
then,  are  you  ?  Very  delightful  position,  with  such  a 
charming  ward,"  laughed  Moritz.  "Here's  a  fellow! 
looks  as  if  he  couldn't  say  '  boh '  to  a  goose,  and  brings 
home  such  a  pretty  girl  the  first  journey  he  takes !  Yes, 
yes, — 'still  waters!'" 

"  Do  not  jest,"  Hilsborn  begged.  "It  is  too  serious  a 
matter  for  jesting." 

"Kay,  never  mind  what  I  say,"  said  Moritz.  "I  must 
pay  some  respect  to  your  new  dignity.  Hardly  out  of 
leading-strings  }Tourself,  and  appointed  guardian  to  young 
unprotected  females!  Ha!  ha!" 

"Be  quiet,  Johannes  will  hear  you,"  grumbled  Heim. 
"Reserve  your  jests  for  more  congenial  society." 

"But,  my  good  friend,  you  cannot  expect  me  to  hang 
my  head  for  the  sake  of  that  fool  of  a  woman,  whom  I 
have  always  wished  at  the  deuce.  Who  could  see,  with- 
out getting  angry,  that  fellow  Johannes  wasting  his  best 
powers  upon  such  an  ungrateful  creature  ?  If  we  were 
compelled  to  stand  by  and  look  on  while  some  one  spent 
time  and  trouble  in  trying  to  make  a  common  brier  pro- 
duce tea-roses,  should  we  not  long  to  root  out  the  sense- 
less weed,  rather  than  witness  such  a  foolish  undertaking?" 

"Your  comparison  does  not  hold  good,  my  friend. 
The  Hartwich  has  her  thorns,  but  with  care  and  patience 
she  will  blossom  into  a  beautiful  flower." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  489 

"Are  you  never  coming  in  ?"  asked  Johannes,  opening 
the  door  of  the  sick-room  and  looking  out  impatiently. 
"  What  keeps  you  so  long?" 

"Yes,  we  are  coming,"  said  Heirn,  "but,  Johannes,  I 
would  rather  see  Ernestine  alone  with  Moritz." 

"As  you  please,  but  pray  make  haste,"  said  Johannes, 
coming  fully  into  the  room.  "Good-day,  Moritz.  How 
are  you  ?  Did  you  not  bring  Angelika  with  you?" 

"  She  wanted  to  come  with  me,  but  I  would  not  let  her." 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Johannes  in  a  tone  of  disap- 
pointment. 

"  Because  women  are  always  in  the  way  at  such  times." 

"  But  had  you  any  right  to  refuse  to  allow  your  wife 
to  see  her  mother  and  brother  after  a  separation  of  four 
weeks  ?" 

"  I  hav?e  the  right,  as  her  husband,  to  allow  and  forbid 
whatever  I  choose.  If  you  wished  it  otherwise,  you  should 
have  had  it  so  said  in  the  marriage  contract,"  Moritz 
replied  sharply.  "  Angelika  never  wishes  for  anything 
that  I  do  not  choose  she  should  have,  and  whoever  does 
not  train  his  wife  in  the  same  way  is  a  fool,  my  dear 
brother-in-law.  Come,  don't  be  vexed — you  know  what 
a  prickly  fellow  I  am." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  mood  to  mind  your  insinuations," 
said  Johannes  wearily.  "  You  war  with  an  unarmed  foe. 
Go  in,  and  bring  me  some  good  news  if  you  can." 

Moritz  repented  his  hasty  words  when  he  saw  how 
ti'oubled  Johannes  really  was,  and  immediately  entreed 
the  sick-room  with  Ileim. 

Johannes  sank  into  the  chair  by  the  window  and  leaned 
his  heavy  head  against  the  panes.  Such  terrible  thoughts 
and  fears  had  lately  assailed  him  !  He  would  not  heed 
them.  But  if  the  two  physicians  should  share  them  also  ? 
His  heart  beat  louder  and  louder  with  every  moment's 
delay.  He  could  hardly  breathe.  Hilsborn  stood  beside 
him,  and,  without  speaking,  pressed  his  hand.  They 
heard  Moritz  speak  to  Ernestine,  and  her  wild,  confused 
replies.  Then  the  murmur  of  Heim's  and  Moritz's  voices 
was  alone  audible. 

At  last  the  door  opened.  Even  Moritz  looked  very 
grave. 


490  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

"  Well  ?"  asked  Johannes. 

"Yes,"  said  Moritz  with  a  shrug,  "I  agree  with 
Heim,  the  fever  is  a  secondary  consideration  now.  It  is 
subdued — there  is  something  worse  than  death  to  be 
dreaded." 

"Ah!  I  feared  it!"  Johannes  said  with  a  low  sup- 
pressed cry.  "  Be  brief, — I  am  upon  the  rack — you  fear 
— good  God !  you  fear  for  her  mind  ?" 

He  could  say  no  more. 

Moritz  and  Heim  exchanged  glances.  "  Be  calm, 
Johannes.  Remember,  this  is  only  conjecture.  We  are 
mortal,  and  cannot  be  certain.  Only  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  it  looks  now  more  like  an  affection  of  the  brain  than 
anything  else." 

"It  is  a  well-known  fact,"  Heim  continued,  "that 
patients  affected  in  this  manner  are  often  slightly  deranged 
in  mind  for  some  time  after  the  fever  is  subdued,  but 
such  cases  are  most  frequent  among  the  aged,  and  the 
derangement  is  not  of  as  long  duration  as  with  Ernestine. 
Her  continual  harping  upon  the  same  idea  troubled  me 
from  the  beginning, — it  was  like  monomania, — always 
her  death  and  a  terrible  eternity  ensuing  upon  it.  She 
must  have  pondered  upon  it  far  too  much  lately, — it  has 
grown  to  be  a  fixed  idea.  If  there  are  not  shortly  signs 
of  returning  reason,  I  am  afraid  she  will  be " 

"  Insane  !"  Johannes  completed  the  sentence — "  oh  ! — 
insane !"  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  in  an  agony 
that  convulsed  his  whole  frame. 

Moritz  laid  his  baud  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Johannes," 
he  said,  "  be  strong.  For  years  we  have  looked  to  you, 
in  joy  and  sorrow,  as  the  very  ideal  of  manly  self-control 
and  firm  determination.  Your  example  has  shown  us 
the  true  dignity  of  manhood, — and  shall  pain  upon  a 
woman's  account  have  power  to  move  you  thus  ?  No 
indeed !  she  is  not  worth  it.  Ten  of  these  fools  are  not 
worth  one  throb  of  agony  in  such  a  man  !" 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me.  Leave  me,  I  pray  you,  to  my- 
self," cried  Johannes. 

"  We  had  better  go,"  said  Heim.  "  He  will  soon  come 
to  himself." 

"  Good-by,  Johannes,"  Moritz  said,  pressing  his  hand. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  491 

"  And  listen — open  the  shutters  in  Ernestine's  room. 
Speak  to  her,  call  to  her.  It  is  not  good  for  her  to  be  in 
that  gloomy  twilight.  It  is  a  case  where  you  must  try 
to  awaken  reason — not  let  it  smoulder  away  with  too 
much  care  and  nursing.  Some  convalescents  would  never 
leave  their  beds  if  they  were  not  driven  from  them, 
because  they  are  too  weak  to  exert  themselves.  And  it  is 
just  so  with  a  diseased  brain.  The  mind  must  be  helped 
upon  its  feet,  especially  with  women,  who  are  only  too 
ready  to  let  themselves  go." 

'•  Moritz  is  right,"  said"  Hoim.  "  I  agree  with  him.  To- 
day is  the  ninth  that  she  has  been  without  fever.  We  may 
risk  something.  Farewell,  Johannes.  I  will  come  again 
this  evening." 

The  gentlemen  motioned  to  Hilsborn  to  accompany 
them,  and  left  the  room. 

Johannes  clasped  bis  hands,  and  there  burst  from  his 
heart  such  a  prayer  as  comes  from  the  soul  only  in 
moments  of  deepest  anguish.  "0  God,  who  knowest 
my  heart  and  its  thoughts  and  desires,  canst  Thou  enter 
into  judgment  with  me  so  heavily  ?  Must  I  be  the  ruin 
of  her  whom  I  would  have  saved  ?  Shall  I  be  the  cause  of 
worse  than  death  to  her  whom  I  would  have  rescued  from 
death  ?  Can  I  bear  this  and  still  retain  my  own  reason  ? 
Have  I  destroyed  the  treasure,  the  hope  of  my  existence? 
Have  I  shattered  the  glorious  image  to  whose  perfection 
I  would  have  lent  an  aiding  hand  ?  And  yet  I  meant 
to  fulfil  my  duty.  O  God,  if  I  have  erred,  mine  be  the 
punishment,  mine, — not  hers  through  me.  Xo  burden  can 
be  laid  upon  me  that  I  will  not  gladly  bear,  save  this 
alone  !" 

He  entered  the  sick-room,  and  stood  looking  at  Ernes- 
tine, who  was  lying  as  if  half  asleep,  muttering  discon- 
nected, unintelligible  words.  Should  he  arouse  her  from 
this  apparent  repose  ?  No,  he  had  not  the  heart  to  do  it. 
He  drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  the  broad  light  of  day  fell 
full  upon  the  ghost-like  face.  She  moved,  as  if  the  light 
pained  her,  and  turned  aside.  Willmers,  who  sat  by  tho 
bedside,  knitting,  motioned  him  away.  Johannes  let 
the  curtain  fall  again. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  Gretchen  rushed 


492  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

in,  her  chest  heaving,  her  eyes  full  of  horror  and  despair. 
Hilsborn  followed,  attempting  in  vain  to  restrain  her. 

"  Do  not  keep  me !"  the  girl  wailed  out.  "  There  is 
no  comfort,  no  hope  for  me  in  this  world  !  It  is  my 
father's  work — and  I  have  sworn  to  repair  the  injury 
done  by  him.  How  can  I  repair  this  wrong  ?  How 
recall  the  glorious  mind  that  he  has  destroyed  ?"  And, 
almost  frantic,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  bed  beside 
Ernestine,  and,  seizing  her  hands,  "  Ernestine,  wake  up! — 
you  must  not  lose  your  reason  !  Ernestine,  listen — hear 
— Ernestine,  Ernestine  !"  she  cried,  in  the  tone  in  which 
she  had  bidden  her  father  farewell. 

And  Ernestine  trembled  at  the  call.  She  started  up, 
and  stared  with  a  wild  expression  at  the  strange  figure 
clad  in  black.  She  closed  her  eyes,  then  opened  them 
again,  only  to  close  them  wearily  once  more,  as  if  she 
had  not  had  sufficient  sleep.  Then  she  asked,  "Who  is 
this?" 

Johannes  and  Hilsborn  stood  in  breathless  expectation. 
They  pressed  each  other's  hands  with  a  look  that  said 
more  than  any  words  could  have  done,  and  Johannes 
made  a  sign  to  Willmers. 

"  It  is  your  young  nurse,  Fraulein  Ernestine,"  Will- 
mers replied. 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  said  Ernestine  slowly.  Again  she  closed 
her  eyes,  but  remained  sitting  upright.  Hilsborn  went 
to  the  window,  and  admitted  a  little  more  light. 

Then  she  rubbed  her  eyes  and  looked  around.  Gretchen 
had  sunk  upon  her  knees,  and  did  not  venture  to  stir. 
Johannes  stood  concealed  by  the  head  of  the  bed. 

"  What  o'clock  is  it  ?"  asked  Ernestine. 

"  Half-past  eleven,"  said  Willmers. 

Again  there  was  silence  for  awhile.  Hilsborn  drew 
the  curtains  still  more  aside.  Just  then  the  Staatsrathin 
in  the  other  room,  ignorant  of  what  was  going  on,  ap- 
proached the  half-open  door.  Fortunately,  Johannes  saw 
her,  and  motioned  her  away  :  she  withdrew  instantly,  but 
the  door  creaked  a  little. 

"  Who  was  coming  in?"  asked  Ernestine. 

"  The  maid,"  Willmers  replied,  with  ready  presence 
of  mind. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  493 

Then  there  was  a  long  pause,  daring  which  the  throb- 
bing of  the  three  hearts,  agitated  by  alternate  fear  and 
hope,  was  almost  audible. 

"  Willmers,"  said  Ernestine. 

"  Fraulein  ?" 

"  Have  I  been  dreaming — or  did  I  really  burn  the 
book  ?" 

"  What  book,  dear  Fraulein  Ernestine  ?" 

"  The  fairy-book, — the  old  fairy-book.  Ah,  I  burned  it. 
How  sorry  I  am  !" 

"  Another  can  easily  be  procured.  Do  not  fret  about 
that,  dear,"  said  Willmers,  suddenly  remembering  that 
there  had  been  a  fire  in  Ernestine's  library  on  the  day  when 
she  was  taken  ill. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  will  not  be  the  same, — not  the  same,"  said 
Ernestine  sadly,  and  was  silent  again  for  some  time. 

"  Willmers  I" 

"Fraulein?" 

"  I  thought  I  was  wakened  by  a  terrible  shriek.  I 
was  so  frightened  I  trembled  all  over.  See  how  vivid  our 
dreams  can  be!" 

"  No  one  shrieked,"  said  Willmers. 

"  Where  is  my  uncle  ?" 

"  Gone  to  America." 

"  Gone  ! and  left  me  here  ?" 

"  You  were  ill." 

"  How  long  have  I  been  in  bed,  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  couple  of  weeks." 

"  Ah  !   Who  has  been  attending  me  ?" 

"  Herr  Geheimrath  Ileim  and  Herr  Professor  Moll- 
ner." 

"  Indeed  ! Mollner!" 

She  was  silent,  and  then  passed  into  a  quiet  half  slum- 
ber, but  she  smiled  in  her  sleep. 

Hilsborn  and  Johannes  went  out  of  the  room  on  tip- 
toe. Without,  they  clasped  each  other's  hands  in  mutual 
congratulations. 

"  What  do  you  think  now  ?"  asked  Johannes. 

"  I  think  she  is  safe,"  said  Hilsborn. 

Gretcheu  slipped  out  and  joined  them.  "  Oh,  you 
42 


494  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

should  see  her  lying  there  now,  so  calm  and  quiet — she 
does  not  even  murmur  in  her  sleep  as  she  did." 

"  Gretchen,"  said  Johannes,  "it  is  your  doing.  God 
bless  you  for  it  !" 

Gretchen  looked  up  at  Hilsborn,  who  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  put  his  arm  around  her  and  draw  her 
towards  him.  Johannes  smiled,  for  the  first  time  for  weeks, 
a»d  said,  "  I  saw  it  coming.  Would  that  such  happiness 
were  mine  1" 

"  But,"  said  Gretchen  timidly,  "remember,  it  is  a  great 
deal  harder  to  win  such  a  creature  as  Ernestine  than  such 
a  poor  little  thing  as  I.  And  only  think  what  she  will 
be  when  won  !" 

The  Staatsrathin  interrupted  the  conversation.  She 
saw  with  delight  the  hope  in  her  son's  eyes,  and  thanked 
God. 

They  sat  together  in  the  antechamber  for  half  an  hour, 
until  they  beard  Ernestine  waken. 

Johannes  then  beckoned  to  Willmers,  and  said  to  her, 
"  Prepare  Ernestine  as  cautiously  as  you  can  for  seeing 
us." 

"  Willmers !"  called  Ernestine. 

"  Here  I  am,  Friiulein  Ernestine." 

"  I  feel  so  well  now, — so  rested  I  I  must  have  been  very 
ill,  for  my  head  is  still  confused,  and  it  is  hard  to  think. 
Tell  me,  my  dear  Willmers,  am  I  not  very  poor?" 

"  No  one  is  very  poor,  Fraulein,  who  is  as  rich  in  mind 
and  heart  as  you  are." 

"  Do  not  evade  my  question.  I  begin  to  remember  it 
exactly.  My  uncle  deceived  me.  And  Mollner, — yes, 
that  was  the  evening  when  he  told  me  I  must  die — and 
the  skull  fell  down  and  struck  my  poor  head  just  here," — 
and  she  put  up  her  hand  to  the  scar,  that  had  remained 
since  her  childhood  from  her  terrible  fall, — "just  here. 
It  was  very  painful,  but  I  hardly  felt  it,  in  my  hurry  to 
read  all  that  there  was  in  the  book  about  diseases  of  the 
heart.  And  then  those  terrible  thoughts  of  eternal  night 
and  eternal  silence — and  then — then — I  remember  nothing 
more.  Oh,  Willmers,  pray  draw  aside  the  curtains,  and 
let  me  enjoy  the  light  as  long  as  I  may." 

Willmers  opened  the  curtains  of  both  the  windows. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  495 

The  bright  rays  of  the  autumn  sun  streamed  into  the 
room.  Ernestine  stretched  out  her  arms  towards  them, 
and  said,  "  Oh,  glorious  light  I  How  long  shall  I  look 
upon  you  ?  How  soon  will  your  warm  rays  kiss  the 
flowers  upon  my  grave?  Shall  the  blest  look  upon  the 
face  of  God  ?  This  beautiful  smiling  world  is  His  face, 
and  blessed  indeed  are  they  who  may  still  look  upon  it 
and  recognize  God.  Ah,  Willmers,  life  is  such  a  gift !  It 
is  truly  valued  by  those  who  stand  looking  down  into 
their  open  graves,  as  I  do,  and  I  think  I  was  never  so 
worthy  to  live  as  now  when  it  is  too  late." 

She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes  and  burst  into 
tears.  "If  I  could  only  hope  to  go  to  eternal  peace  upon 
a  Father's  loving,  forgiving  heart,  I  would  gladly  die.  I 
long  for  His  love.  All  feel  His  presence,  and  look  to 
Him.  But  I  dare  not  approach  Him.  I  should  be  thrust 
out." 

"Dear  Friiulein  Ernestine,"  said  Willmers,  "you  are 
still  ill,  and  that  is  the  cause  of  these  gloomy  thoughts. 
If  you  would  only  talk  with  Professor  Mollner,  he  would 
know  better  how  to  answer  you  than  such  a  simple  old 
woman  as  I." 

"  When  is  Dr.  Mollner  coining  again?" 

"  He  is  here  with  his  mother.  They  came  here  to  stay, 
that  they  might  take  care  of  you,  and  the  Frau  Staats- 
rathin  has  done  all  that  she  could  to  help  her  son.  Oh, 
how  anxious  and  unhappy  they  have  been  about  you  ! 
The  Herr  Professor  would  not  stir  from  your  bedside, 
and  he  looks  quite  ill  with  constant  watching." 

Ernestine  cast  down  her  eyes  with  emotion. 

"  May  I  not  ask  him  to  come  in  now  ?"  asked  Willmers. 

"  Pray  do  so." 

Willmers  did  not  have  to  go  far  to  call  him.  He  was 
already  at  the  door. 

"Ernestine,  how  are  you?"  he  said,  doing  his  best  to 
appear  composed. 

"Well,  dear  friend."  And  she  smiled,  and  held  out 
her  hand  to  him.  "What  have  you  not  done  for  me! 
How  can  a  dying  woman  thank  you  for  such  self-sacri- 
fice?" 

"Ernestine,"  cried  Johannes,  pressing  her  hand  t^ 


496  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

lips,  "you  are  in  error.  I  myself  led  you  into  it,  and  se- 
verely has  God  punished  me  for  my  imprudence.  Every- 
thing that  I  told  you  of  your  physical  condition  was 
founded  upon  mistaken  suppositions.  What  I  thought  a 
symptom  of  chronic  disease  was  nothing  but  the  approach 
of  an  acute  attack  of  illness.  Two  physicians,  Ileim  and 
Moritz  Kern,  pronounce  your  heart  sound,  and  you  are 
now  out  of  danger.  Oh,  Ernestine,  you  cannot  dream 
what  my  sufferings  have  been  !  I  saw  you  writhing  in 
mortal  agony.  All  your  fancies  betrayed  the  terror  into 
which  I  had  plunged  you.  I  would  have  rescued  you 
from  it,  but  you  could  not  hear  nor  understand  me.  I 
offered  you  the  truth  that  would  save  you  from  destruc- 
tion, and  you  could  not  open  your  lips  to  receive  it.  It 
was  too  much,  too  much  !" 

"Then  I  need  not  die?"  asked  Ernestine  with  a  long 
breath,  as  if  awaking  from  an  oppressive  dream. 

"  On  my  honour,  Ernestine,  you  are  quite  out  of 
danger." 

She  could  not  speak.  She  could  only  look  fondly  and 
gratefully  at  the  blue  heavens  outside  the  window.  Then 
she  silently  pressed  Mollner's  band  to  her  breast,  and  the 
large  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

The  Staatsrathin  then  entered.  "May  I  come  in?" 
she  asked.  "  May  I  say  good-morning  to  the  invalid  ?" 

Ernestine  drew  the  old  lady  towards  her,  put  her  arm 
around  her,  and  whispered,  "  You  have  so  much  to  for- 
give, but  you  granted  me  your  forgiveness  before  I  could 
ask  you  for  it.  I  feel  so  humiliated  in  comparison  with 
you,  I  will  riot  conceal  the  shame  this  confession  causes 
me.  It  is  your  only  reward  for  all  that  you  have  done 
for  me." 

"How  she  has  been  purified  in  the  terrible  furnace  that 
she  has  passed  through  !"  the  Staatsrathin  said  to  Jo- 
hannes, who  was  looking  down  enraptured  upon  the  pale, 
beautiful  features,  once  more  informed  by  the  clear  light 
of  reason. 

"I  thank  you  all,  and  you  too,  dear  Willrners.  Every 
breath  that  I  draw  of  this  new  gift  of  life  shall  be  full  of 
gratitude  to  you  and  " — she  looked  timidly  upwards — 
"  to  God.  In  that  dark,  dark  night  of  horror,  I  felt  that 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  49 ? 

His  hand  prostrated  me,  and  now  His  hand  lifts  me  up 
again.     Oh,  yes,  He  is  a  merciful  God  !" 

"  Then,  Ernestine,"  said  Johannes,  "  a  blessing  has 
come  even  from  the  terror  that  I  caused  you, — the  bless- 
ing of  faith." 

"  Yes,  dear  friend,  you  were  right  when  you  said,  '  To 
some  God  comes  in  fear.'  You  were  right  in  everything, 
and  I  am  only  a  woman  !"  Her  head  drooped.  She  was 
exhausted. 

Johannes  and  his  mother,  looked  significantly  at  each 
other,  joy  in  their  eyes.  It  seemed  to  them  that  Ernes- 
tine was  born  again. 

The  blessed  relief  that  followed  this  brief  conversation 
kept  the  invalid  sunk  in  profound  sleep  all  the  rest  of  the 
day. 

When  Heim  came,  towards  evening,  he  would  not  even 
see  her,  lest  he  should  disturb  the  repose  which  was,  he 
said,  the  best  medicine  for  a  convalescent. 

At  nightfall  she  opened  her  eyes  and  saw  Johannes 
sitting  beside  her. 

"  Are  you  still  with  me?"  she  asked. 

"  I  am  always  with  you,  Ernestine.  I  shall  never 
leave  you,"  he  said  with  fervour. 

Her  eyelids  closed,  and  she  was  silent,  but  her  breath 
came  quickly.  He  saw  that  his  words  had  excited  her, 
and  he  resolved  carefully  to  avoid  in  future  every  syllable 
that  could  possibly  disturb  the  perfect  repose  of  her 
mind. 

He  left  the  room,  that  she  might  become  composed. 
Willmers  persuaded  her  to  take  some  nourishment,  and 
she  fell  asleep  again  without  a  word. 

She  was  so  much  refreshed  the  next  morning  that  Jo- 
hannes breakfasted  with  his  mother  for  the  first  time  for 
many  days,  and  assured  her  that  he  confidently  hoped 
now  for  Ernestine's  speedy  recovery. 

"Thank  God!"  ejaculated  the  Staatsriithin  fervently. 
"  Since  yesterday  I  have  seen  how  dear  she  may  become 
to  me.  I  acknowledge  now  that  you,  my  son,  understood 
this  rare  creature  better  than  I  did.  But  where  are 
Gretchen  and  Hilsborn  ?  Why  do  they  not  come  to  break- 
fast ?" 

42* 


498  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  They  are  taking  a  turn  together  in  the  garden.  How 
happy  they  are  !" 

"  God  willing,  we  shall  soon  have  a  double  wedding  in 


"  Ah,  mother,  yours  are  bold  dreams  !"  cried  Johannes. 

"  But  why  not  ?  Be  sure,  my  son,  she  will  soon  be  well 
again.  Her  constitution,  both  mental  and  physical,  is 
strong.  In  two  weeks  your  holidays  will  be  at  an  end, 
and  then  we  will  carry  her  back  to  town  with  us,  and 
when  her  trousseau,  that  I  shall  provide,  is  complete, 
where  will  there  be  any  need  of  delay  ?" 

"  Why,  mother,  you  yourself  have  just  said  that  her 
mind  is  vigorous  as  well  as  her  body.  I  shall  never  be- 
lieve she  can  be  mine  until  she  is  actually  my  affianced 
bride." 

"  Ah,  Moritz  and  Angelika  !"  cried  the  Staatsriithin, 
rising  to  meet  them  as  they  entered. 

Angelika  kissed  her  mother  and  brother.  She  was,  if 
possible,  plumper  and  rosier  than  evter. 

"Aha!"  laughed  Moritz,  "  we  frightened  you  for  no- 
thing yesterday.  I  know  —  I  know  all  about  it  from  Heim. 
Your  coy  damsel  has  come  to  her  senses  —  congratulate 
you  !  If  she  can  be  cured  of  the  rest  of  her  brain-sick- 
ness, why,  Heaven  speed  the  wooing  !  There'll  be  no 
getting  any  good  out  of  you  until  you  are  married." 

Angelika  put  her  plump,  dimpled  little  hand  over  his 
mouth.  "Can  you  not  let  poor  Johannes  have  some 
peace  ?" 

Moritz  kissed  the  soft,  warm  fetter  placed  upon  his  lips 
and  freed  himself  from  it. 

"  '  Poor'  Johannes  !  Why  poor  ?  He's  sure  of  her  now. 
She  hasn't  a  groschen.  Let  her  thank  Heaven  that  there 
is  a  comfortable  home  ready  for  her,  and  she  will,  — 
no  one  can  accuse  her  of  stupidity,"  said  Moritz. 

Johannes  and  his  mother  looked  grave,  but  did  not 
speak,  and  he  went  on.  "  I  can't  conceive  how  she  with- 
stood you  so  long.  You're  the  very  hero  for  a  novel,  — 
too  sentimental  for  my  taste,  but  that's  just  what  women 
like,  and  if  I  were  a  woman  I'd  have  you  on  the  spot." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  Moritz,"  said  Johannes  gaily, 
"but  make  your  mind  easy,  —  I  certainly  would  not  have 
you." 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  499 

"  Oh,  do  stop !  you  do  nothing  but  quarrel  and  fight 
when  you  are  together,"  said  Angelika  merrily.  "  You 
are  both  good  and  true,  each  after  his  own  fashion,  and  I 
love  you  both  dearly.  What  more  do  }rou  want?" 

'•All  right,"  said  Moritz,  contemplating  the  fair  little 
figure  with  immense  satisfaction.  "  If  you  love  us,  I  am 
entirely  content.  It  is  only  your  discontented  brother  who 
is  not  satisfied." 

"Angelika  knows  well  enough,"  said  Johannes,  "what 
she  is  to  me  !" 

Here  Willmers  appeared.  "  Herr  Professor,  Fraulein  Er- 
nestine is  awake,  and  is  asking  for  her  'pretty  young 
nurse, 'as  she  calls  her.  Shall  I  go  for  Fraulein  Gretchen  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Johannes,  "but  I  must  tell  her  who  Gretchen 
is, — you  will  excuse  me  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  go,  for  Heaven's  sake!  don't  wait  an  in- 
stant !"  Moritz  called  after  him. 

"  Ernestine,"  said  Johannes,  after  he  had  exchanged 
morning  greetings  with  the  invalid,  whose  improvement 
was  evidently  steady  and  sure, — "  Ernestine,  you  wish  to 
see  the  young  girl  who  was  here  yesterday,  and  I  must 
first  tell  you  who  she  is.  Do  you  still  cherish  any  affec- 
tion  for  your  uncle  ?" 

Ernestine  shook  her  head.     "  He  is  dead  to  me." 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you  of  him  that  may  agitate 
you,  and  I  scarcely  dare  to  do  it." 

"  What  can  agitate  me,  after  all  the  terrors  that  my 
own  fancy  has  conjured  up  ?"  Ernestine  asked  composedly. 

"  Well,  then,  the  girl  who  has  helped  to  nurse  you 
with  touching  fidelity  for  the  last  four  weeks  is  Leuthold's 
daughter,  and — an  orphan  !" 

"  Good  God  1"  she  exclaimed.  "Poor  child!  Is  Leu- 
thold  dead  ?" 

"Yes,  he  inflicted  upon  himself  the  punishment  of  his 
crimes.  This  world  is  past  for  him." 

Ernestine  looked  up  gravely.  "  I  cannot  mourn  him. 
He  was  my  evil  genius,  and  shamefully  abused  my  confi- 
dence. But  I  will  not  visit  it  upon  his  daughter, — poor, 
innocent  child.  I  pray  you  bring  her  to  me, — she  is  the 
only  creature  in  this  world  who  is  linked  to  me  by  the  tie 
of  kindred !" 


500  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Johannes  went  to  the  window  and  beckoned  to  Gretchen, 
who  was  approaching  the  house  with  Hilsborn. 

She  came  instantly,  and  a  minute  later  was  upon  her 
knees  at  Ernestine's  bedside.  Ernestine  would  have 
drawn  her  towards  her,  but  she  sobbed,  "  Let  me  kneel 
at  your  feet. — only  so  should  the  daughter  of  one  who 
greatly  wronged  you  dare  to  approach  you." 

"  Gretchen,  poor,  innocent  orphan,"  cried  Ernestine, 
"come  to  my  heart!"  Then,  regarding  her  with  emo- 
tion, she  declared,  "  Indeed,  if  anything  could  lighten 
his  errors,  it  would  be  his  affection  for  such  a  child.  For 
the  sake  of  that  pure  human  love,  I  forgive  him.  If  I 
were  rich,  I  would  share  all  with  you  as  with  a  sister. 
If  I  had  anything  to  give,  I  would  give  it  to  you. 
But  I  have  nothing  for  you,  except  sympathy  and  af- 
fection." 

And  the  two  girls  were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms. 


CHAPTER  X. 

RETURN. 

WITH  reawakening  strength,  entirely  novel  feelings  of 
affection  and  interest  penetrated  Ernestine's  nature, — 
genuine  human  sympathies,  such  as  her  life  hitherto  had 
afforded  no  room  for.  In  a  few  days  the  closest  intimacy 
was  established  between  herself  and  Gretchen.  There  was 
a  simplicity  about  Ernestine  that  no  one  had  believed  her  to 
possess.  It  was  as  if  she  now  began  tolive  for  the  first  time, 
as  if  during  the  long  period  of  her  unconsciousness  she 
had  forgotten  her  former  experience  of  the  outward  world, 
and  she  was  as  delighted  as  a  child  with  all  that  unfolded 
itself  before  her  eyes.  She  was  as  charmed  as  if  she  had 
never  seen  it  before  with  the  sight  of  the  clear  autumn  sky. 
She  would  gaze  long  and  thoughtfully  upon  the  flowers 
that  were  laid  upon  her  bed.  She  eagerly  turned  over, 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  501 

with  Gretchen,  the  books  of  rare  prints  that  Johannes 
brought  for  her  amusement.  Hitherto  she  had  known  Art 
only  by  name,  and  had  not  had  an  idea  of  its  significance. 
Her  uncle  had  never  supplied  food  for  her  imagination, 
lest  she  should  be  turned  aside  from  the  pursuit  of  her 
graver  studies.  Her  weary  soul  now  bathed  in  the  waters 
of  fancy  which  Johannes  unlocked  for  her  refreshment. 
He  brought  her  photographs  of  pictures  and  statues 
by  famous  masters,  and  ideas  of  the  beautiful  were 
awakened  within  her,  filling  her  with  glad  inspiration. 
And  Gretchcn  met  her  with  ready  sympathy, — she  was 
in  advance  of  her,  indeed,  and  could  point  out  to  her  many 
beauties  that  else  might  have  escaped  her  unpractised  eyes. 
At  such  times  Ernestine  would  regard  Gretchen  with 
admiration  and  surprise.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  see  the 
two  girls  throwing  their  whole  souls  into  these  new 
enjoyments  together.  Even  Hilsborn,  who  since  Ernes- 
tine's convalescence  had  naturally  been  defrauded  of 
many  a  delightful  moment,  could  not  grudge  them  so 
pure  and  true  a  happiness.  Sometimes  from  morning 
until  night  the  two  lovely  heads  would  be  bent  together 
over  books  and  prints,  and  sometimes  they  had  a  com- 
panion,— Father  Leonhardt,  who  would  come  "on  pur- 
pose," as  he  expressed  it,  "  to  see  the  new  books."  But  his 
delight  was  in  listening  to  Ernestine  while  she  described 
the  pictures  minutely,  oftentimes  with  so  much  truth  and 
spirit  that  the  old  man  would  clasp  his  hands  and  cry, 
"  How  beautiful  that  must  be !" 

"  Do  you  see  it,  Father  Leonhardt  ?"  she  would  ask  in 
her  zeal,  and  the  old  man  would  reply  delightedly,  "  Yes, 
I  see  it !" 

And  when  anything  pleased  him  particularly,  he  would 
ask,  "  Show  me  that  picture  again  !"  and  Ernestine  was 
unwearied  in  her  descriptions  and  explanations. 

Johannes  and  his  mother  were  enchanted  with  this 
rejuvenation,  as  it  might  be  called. 

She  avoided  with  secret  dislike  any  return  to  her  for- 
mer world  of  thought,  —  it  was  too  harsh  a  contrast 
to  her  present  delight, — she  seemed  actually  disgusted 
with  the  anatomical  pursuits  which  had  led  her  to  dissect 
so  curiously  what  now  gave  her  so  much  pleasure.  She 


502  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

•would  not  again  descend  into  those  gloomy  depths  whence 
she  had  drawn  nothing  but  despair,  and  all  that  she  now 
looked  upon  was  as  novel  and  strange  as  if  she  had  spent 
the  last  ten  years  immured  in  a  tower,  from  which  she 
had  only  looked  out  upon  God's  fair  world  from  a  far-off 
height. 

Her  recovery  advanced  so  rapidly  that  eight  days  after 
her  first  awaking  to  consciousness  she  was  able  to  be 
carried  by  Johannes  and  Gretchen  into  the  library,  once 
more  restored  to  order  and  comfort  by  the  faithful  care 
of  Willmers.  She  was  placed  iu  an  arm-chair,  and,  as  the 
Staatsrutbin  covered  her  with  a  warm,  soft  coverlet,  she 
said  in  a  weak  voice,  "  Now  let  us  begin  where  we  left 
off  ten  years  ago  !" 

The  Staatsruthin  stooped,  and,  kissing  her  brow,  whis- 
pered softly,  "  It  is  a  pity  so  much  time  has  been  lost !" 
"Oh,  no, — not  a  pity,"  replied  Ernestine, — "no  time 
spent  in  searching  for  truth  is  lost ;  but  the  measure  of 
my  strength  is  exhausted.     I  must  give  up." 

And,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  she  leaned  back  her  head 
and  was  silent. 

The  days  passed  on,  and  the  time  approached  very 
nearly  when  Mollner  must  return  to  his  duties  in  town. 
Ernestine  grew  more  silent  and  thoughtful.  No  one 
could  understand  the  change  in  her  mood,  for  her  physical 
condition  improved  daily,  while  she  fell  into  a  state  of 
depression  such  as  had  not  befallen  her  since  she  began 
to  recover.  At  last  Heim  decreed  that  she  must  have 
fresh  air,  and  one  warm  noon  she  drove  out  for  the  first 
time.  She  had  begged  that  Gretchen  alone  might  accom- 
pany her,  and  the  Mollners  had,  although  unwillingly, 
acceded  to  her  request,  Johannes  carefully  lifting  her 
into  the  carriage. 

"  Gretchen,"  said  Ernestine,  as  they  drove  along,  "  Dr. 
Mollner  has  twice  alluded  to  the  fact  that  in  two  or  three 
days  he,  with  his  mother,  must  move  back  to  town,  as 
his  lectures  at  the  University  will  begin  again.  You 
heard  how  they  took  it  for  granted  that  we  should  accom- 
pany them.  I  made  only  evasive  answers,  but  now  I 
must  resolve  what  to  do.  Gretchen,  you  have  often  told 
me  that  your  peace  of  mind  depended  upon  your  helping 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  503 

to  support  me  as  long  as  I  needed  you."  She  looked 
searchingly  at  the  girl.  "  What  if  1  were  to  take  you  at 
your  word  ?" 

"  I  should  keep  it,  for  I  gave  it  not  only  to  you,  but  to 
God  Almighty,"  said  Gretchen.  "  Tell  me,  Ernestine, 
what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"Everything!"  cried  Ernestine.  "You  can  save  me 
from  living  upon  charity." 

"  How  so?" 

"  Can  you  not  imagine,  Gretchen,  what  it  must  be  to 
me  to  accept  further  benefits  from  people  whom  I  long 
to  repay  in  kind,  whom  I  would  like  to  reward  a  thou- 
sandfold for  all  that  they  have  done  for  me  ?  I  do  not 
know  whether  you  understand  me  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  would  far  rather  earn  my  living  by  the  work  of  my 
hands  than  depend  upon  the  kindness  of  those  whom 
I  once  treated  so  arrogantly,  and  who  have  already 
heaped  more  coals  of  fire  upon  my  head  than  I  can  bear. 
You  shake  your  head.  Your  father,  Gretcben,  would 
have  understood  me, — his  words  upon  this  subject,  the 
evening  before  he  left  me,  are  ineffaceably  impressed  upon 
my  mind." 

"  Forgive  me,  Ernestine,  it  does  not  become  me  to  de- 
preciate my  father  still  further  in  your  eyes,  but  I  cannot 
be  silent  1  I  have  arrived  at  the  melancholy  conviction 
that  my  father  never  advised  you  well.  He  was  wrong  here 
too.  He  did  not  know  Dr.  Mollner, — he  could  not  conceive 
of  the  depth  and  truth  of  his  affection-  for  you.  Will  you 
reward  the  man  who  has  done  so  much  for  you  by  making 
him  wretched  ?  You  certainly  will  do  so  if  you  refuse 
to  go  with  him.  No,  Ernestine,  I  do  not  understand  how 
you  can  break  a  man's  heart  just  for  the  sake  of  your 
pride  !" 

Ernestine  did  not  speak  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
she  said,  "  Gretchen,  you  are  a  child, — I  cannot  explain  to 
you  that  there  is  a  principle  of  honour  to  which  one  must 
sacrifice  the  happiness  of  a  life,  should  circumstances  de- 
mand it.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  when  I  was  wealthy 
and  independent,  Mollner  ottered  me  his  hand,  and  that  I 
refused  it,  because  I  could  not  fulfil  the  conditions  that 
he  proposed.  Since  that  time  his  conduct  has  failed  to 


504  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

assure  me  that  he  still  loves  me,  for  a  nature  as  noble  as 
his,  is  perfectly  capable  of  sacrificing  all  that  he  has  for 
me,  from  pure  sympathy  and  mere  compassion.  And,  even 
if  he  still  loved  me,  could  he  valne  a  heart  open  to  the 
suspicion  of  surrendering  itself  to  him  under  the  pressure 
of  necessity,  not  from  free  choice  ?  No,  Gretcben,  there 
can  be  no  firm  structure  of  happiness  erected  upon  such 
a  foundation.  This  is  not  the  time  when  I  could  with- 
draw my  refusal  to  be  his  wife  !  No,  no  !  such  a  course  at 
this  point  would  fix  the  blush  of  shame  upon  my  forehead 
forever.  Perhaps  I  may  still  succeed  in  obtaining  an  in- 
dependence by  my  own  exertions, — an  independence  that 
will  again  make  me  his  equal.  Then  it  would  be  differ- 
ent,.— then  he  would  know  that  I  gave  myself  to  him 
from  free  choice,  not  upon  compulsion.  If  he  should  woo 
me  then, — oh,  Gretchen,  it  would  be  happiness  that  I 
scarcely  dare  to  think  of!" 

Gretchen  kissed  a  tear  from  Ernestine's  pale  cheek,  and 
said  gently,  "You  are  not  like  any  one  else,  but  always 
true  and  noble.  I  have  no  right  to  judge  you.  If  you 
say,  'Thus  shall  it  be,'  I  will  submit.  My  only  desire  is 
to  obey  you." 

"  You  shall  not  obey  me,  Gretchen,  but  you  shall  be  my 
guide  in  a  world  where  I  am  a  stranger, — you  shall  lend 
me  your  arm  to  support  me  until  I  can  stand  alone. 
Will  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  low  reply.  The  girl  was  thinking 
of  Hilsborn  and  his  sorrow  at  the  postponement  of  his 
hopes  and  of  her  own  hopes  also,  and  she  tried  to  take 
heart  and  tell  fier  cousin  that  she  loved  and  was  loved 
in  return,  and  that  she  would  be  able  to  offer  her  an 
asylum.  But  Gretchen  paused,  and  bethought  herself. 
Ernestine  would  never  accept  from  Hilsborn  what  she 
refused  to  receive  from  Mollner.  She  could  not  make 
such  an  offer  without  offending  Ernestine,  and,  if  Ernes- 
tine learned  how  matters  stood  with  Gretchen,  she  would 
assuredly  refuse  all  assistance  or  service  from  her  that 
could  delay  her  happiness  with  Hilsborn.  For  Ernestine's 
proud  nature  never  could  endure  the  thought  of  being  a 
burden  to  any  one  Gretchen  had  felt  all  this  from  the 
first,  and  therefore  had  insisted  that  her  betrothal  should 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR    THE  SOUL.  5Q5 

be  kept  secret  from  Ernestine.  And  could  she  tell  her  of  it 
now  ?  She  controlled  herself,  and  was  silent. 

"  I  will  tell  you  my  plan,"  Ernestine  began.  "  Of 
course  I  have  given  up  the  idea  of  going  to  America.  I 
could  never  do  what  would  be  required  of  me  there,  with- 
out assistance,  and,  even  if  I  could,  I  would  not  leave 
home  and  all  that  I  love  for  the  sake  of  mere  fame.  I 
will  try  to  find  a  position  as  a  teacher  of  natural  science 
in  some  institution,  or,  failing  that,  I  will  go  out  as  a 
private  governess.  But  I  know  how  ignorant  I  am  of 
everything  that  is  looked  for  from  a  woman  in  such  a 
position.  I  know  nothing  of  feminine  occupations  myself, 
and,  of  course,  am  quite  unfit  to  have  the  entire  charge 
of  children.  I  understand  no  art, — I  am  deficient  in  all 
practical  knowledge, — the  knowledge  that  I  possess  is 
seldom  needed  in  life  This  I  have  learned  since  I  have 
seen  something  of  the  world.  You,  Gretchen,  are  my 
only  hope.  You  will  teach  me  everything, — you  are  a 
proficient  in  all  that  a  woman  should  know.  I  must  leave 
this  place.  I  must  get  away  from  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try. Until  I  am  out  of  Moilner's  reach,  there  will  be  no 
peace  either  for  him  or  for  me.  He  would  always  be 
thinking  that  he  ought  to  take  me  from  my  position,  and 
there  would  be  endless  struggles.  So  I  think  it  would  be 
best  that  we  two  should  retire  to  some  small  town,  as 
far  off  as  my  means  will  permit,  and  then,  if  you  would 
sacrifice  to  me  a  few  months  of  your  young,  hopeful  life, 
until  I  should  be  sufficiently  far  advanced  to  procure  a 

situation." She  got  so  far  with  difficulty,  and  then, 

breaking  off,  asked  humbly,  "  Is  this  asking  too  much 
of  you  ?  The  world  is  open  to  you,  Gretchen.  Every  one 
would  welcome  you  back  from  your  seclusion.  Moilner's 
house  will  always  be  a  home  for  you,  where  you  may  be 
tenderly  cared  for.  Will  you  sacrifice  all  this  to  me,  for 
a  little  while  ?" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  Gretchen.  "But,  dearest 
Ernestine,  have  we  the  means  to  carry  out  this  plan?  All 
that  I  possess  is  three  gold  pieces  that  I  found  in  the 
pocket  of  the  dress  that  my  mother  gave  me.  Look, 
here  they  are — I  always  carry  them  about  me.  My 
mother  had  written  upon  the  paper  iu  which  they  were 

43 


506  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

wrapped,  '  To  be  used  in  case  of  necessity.'  I  meant 
to  spend  them  for  you,  for  you  are  all  the  '  necessity' 
that  I  have.  Take  them, — they  are  all  that  I  have,  but 
I  am  afraid  they  will  not  go  far." 

"  Thank  you,  you  dear  faithful  little  sister  !"  cried 
Ernestine.  "  We  are  not  so  poor  as  you  think.  Dr.  Mb'Il- 
ner  has  succeeded  in  saving  all  my  furniture  from  your 
father's  creditors.  The  sale  of  it  will  bring  us  in  a  sum 
sufficient  to  support  us  until  I  shall  find  a  situation." 

"  The  question  is,  then,  how  long  that  will  be,"  said 
Gretchen,  thoughtfully. 

"  Only  a  few  months  at  the  longest,  I  should  sup- 
pose." 

Gretchen  was  startled,  but  she  only  said  gently,  "  Then 
we  had  better  select  a  place  where  I  too  can  earn  some- 
thing, that  there  may  be  no  danger  of  our  suffering  from 
want." 

"  That  shall  be  as  you  think  best,"  replied  Ernestine. 
"  I  put  myself  entirely  iu  your  hands, — only  take  me  away 
secretly,  so  that  no  one  may  seek  to  detain  us." 

"Must  no  one  know  anything  of  it?  Must  I  tell  no- 
body ?" 

"  Do  you  suppose  we  should  be  allowed  to  go,  Gretchen, 
if  our  intention  was  suspected  ?  If  you  are  afraid  that 
you  cannot  keep  our  departure  secret,  tell  me  so  frankly, 
and  I  will  go  alone,  without  your  knowledge." 

"  Oh,  no,  Ernestine,  I  will  not  let  you  go  out  into  the 
world  alone.  What  are  all  my  resolutions  and  protesta- 
tions worth,  if  I  fail  you  at  the  outset  ?  But  there  is  one 
person,  Ernestine,  to  whom  I  owe  a  certain  obedience, 
my guardian  1  I  am  not  of  age,  as  you  are.  I  can- 
not do  just  as  I  please.  I  must  ask  him  whether  I  may 
go  with  you — but  I  will  answer  for  his  secrecy.  He  shall 
promise  me,  before  I  confide  in  him,  that  he  will  not  be- 
tray my  confidence, — and  he  always  keeps  his  promises.'' 

Ernestine  considered  for  a  moment.  "Yes,  I  see  this 
cannot  be  avoided.  I  rely  upon  you.  Johannes  and  bis 
mother  are  going  to  drive  into  town  together  in  a  few 
days  to  prepare  a  room  for  us  in  their  house.  When  they 
return  in  the  evening,  they  must  not  find  us  here." 

"I  cannot  help  feeling,"  said  Gretchen,  "as  if  I  were 


OR  A  PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  507 

guilty  of  treachery  towards  all  these  kind  people.  I  never 
deceived  any  one  in  my  life  before ;  I  feel  like  a  criminal." 

"  We  will  not  deceive  them,  only  spare  them  a  parting1 
scene  that  would  be  painful  to  us  all, — we  will  not  im- 
pose upon  them  the  necessity  of  preventing  what  in  their 
hearts  they  may  think  best  for  us.  When  we  ai'e  once 
away,  I  will  write  and  explain  to  them  what  we  have 
done,  and  they  will  understand  me." 

"  Ernestine,  I  will  pray  God  to  give  you  more  love  and 
less  pride.  My  only  hope  is  that  you  will  not  long  be 
able  to  live  without  the  faithful  friend  who  loves  you  so 
devotedly." 

Ernestine  looked  out  of^the  carriage-window  without 
a  word.  The  fields  were  bare  and  deserted,  but  the  spi- 
ders' webs,  that  lay  like  nets  upon  the  stubble,  glistened 
in  the  sunlight.  Here  and  there  the  peasants  were  burn- 
ing underbrush,  and  the  red  flames  darted  with  a  merry 
crackle  through  the  thick  white  smoke  that  the  autumn 
breeze  kept  lying  low  upon  the  ground.  The  cattle  were 
gleaning  a  scanty  meal  from  the  shorn  pastures, — they 
raised  their  heads  to  look  after  the  carriage  as  it  passed, 
or  to  rub  their  necks  against  some  dried  old  stump  of  a 
tree.  In  the  distance,  a  sportsman  was  making  his  toil- 
some way  through  the  deep  furrows  of  a  ploughed  field, 
while  his  dog  busied  himself  among  the  hedges  until  he 
started  a  covey  of  birds,  and  the  fatal  crack  of  the  gun 
was  heard.  A  wagon,  laden  high  with  full  wine-casks, 
passed  along  the  road, — the  boy  that  was  driving  had  a 
bunch  of  withered  asters  in  his  hat,  and  cracked  his  whip 
gaily  at  sight  of  Gretcben's  lovely  face,  while  the  little  dog 
perched  on  the  top  of  the  load  barked  angrily.  "Every 
one  is  making  ready  for  winter,"  said  Gretchen.  "  How 
much  labour  meat  and  drink  cost !" 

The  carriage  turned  towards  the  village,  and  Ernestine 
called  to  the  coachman  to  stop  at  the  school-house, — "  I 
must  see  the  Leonhardts  once  more."  As  they  reached 
the  low-roofed  house,  one  of  the  windows  was  opened, 
and  Frau  Brigitta  looked  out.  "  Good-morning,  Frau 
Leonhardt,"  cried  Ernestine  from  the  carriage. 

"  My  dear  Friiulein  Ernestine,  I  can  hardly  trust  my 
eyes  !"  And  out  she  came  to  the  carriage-door.  "  Come 


508  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

in,  come  in,  both  of  you, — I  will  bring  Bernhard — he  is 
with  Kathchen  in  the  garden.  But  Walter  is  in  the  house. 
He  is  so  happy  with  the  things  you  have  sent  himl  He 
studies  night  and  day !'?  Thus  the  old  woman  ran  on, 
as  she  assisted  her  guests  to  alight. 

"  I  think,"  said  Ernestine,  "  that  I  should  like  to  go 
into  the  garden  to  Father  Leonhardt." 

"Just  as  you  please.  He  is  sitting  round  the  corner, 
in  the  sun." 

"Go  into  the  house,  then,  Gretchen,"  said  Ernestine. 
"I  will  come  in  one  moment." 

And  she  went  round  the  house  as  quickly  as  her 
strength  would  permit,  and  approached  the  old  man,  who 
was  teaching  Kathchen  her  lesson.  The  child  would 
have  run  to  meet  her,  but  Ernestine  motioned  to  her  not 
to  speak,  and  knelt  silently  down  by  Leonhardt. 

"Who  is  this?"  he  asked. 

Ernestine  made  no  reply,  but  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  his 
hand.  He  smiled.  ,  "  Oh,  it  is  my  daughter  Ernestine  !" 

"  Yes,  father,  it  is  I,"  she  said.  "  I  come  to  you  the 
first  time  that  I  have  driven  out.  There  is  much  within 
me  that  is  still  dark.  I  come  to  you  for  light." 

"  You  bring  me  light,  and  do  you  ask  me  to  give  you 
light  ?  But  I  know  what  you  mean,  and  I  will  give  you 
all  that  I  have.  Heaven  may  make  me,  poor  blind  old 
man,  its  instrument  in  comforting  and  assisting  you. 
Tell  me,  then,  Ernestine,  why  does  the  sunshine  that  now 
floods  your  life  fail  to  penetrate  your  heart  ?" 

"  Send  the  child  away,  father." 

"Go,  Kathi  dear,"  Leonhardt  said. 

"  To  Walter?"  the  little  girl  asked,  delighted. 

"Yes,  if  he  is  not  busy, — see  that  you  do  not  trouble 
him." 

Kathchen  still  lingered,  with  a  look  of  inquiry  at  Er- 
nestine, who  perceived  it,  and  held  out  her  hand.  "My 
good  little  Kathchen,  do  you  remember  me?  I  would 
like  to  give  you  a  kiss,  but  you  might  fear  my  touch 
would  harm  you  again." 

"Oh,  no.  That  cannot  be,"  said  Kathchen.  "I  am 
not  at  all  afraid  of  you." 

"  Then  come  here,  my  sweet  child  "      And  she  took 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  509 

her  upon  her  lap,  and  kissed  her  kindly.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  she  had  ever  had  a  child  in  her  arms,  and  the 
pleasure  that  it  gave  her  was  new  and  strange. 

"  Oh,  Father  Leonhardt,"  she  said,  "  how  many  differ- 
ent kinds  of  love  there  are  !  Strange  that  they  all  seem 
so  new  and  delightful  to  me !" 

"  You  are  like  the  man  with  the  heart  of  stone,  in 
Hauff's  story.  Your  uncle  put  a  marble  heart  in  your 
breast,  and  Mb'llner  has  given  you  a  warm,  living  heart 
instead." 

Ernestine  blushed  at  these  words.  She  was  glad  that 
Leonhardt  could  not  see  her,  yet  he  did  see  her. 

"He  brings  a  blessing  wherever  he  comes,"  the  old 
man  continued.  "  He  has  done  everything  for  this  child. 
Did  he  tell  you  ?  The  Countess  Worronska  sent  the 
forty  thousand  roubles,  as  she  promised,  and  Dr.  Mollner 
succeeded  at  last  in  persuading  the  Kellers  to  send  Kath- 
chen  to  a  good  school.  She  will  leave  now  in  about  a 
week." 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  it,"  said  Ernestine. 

"  It  is  not  bis  custom  to  speak  of  the  good  he  does," 
said  Leonbardt,  "but  indeed  he  is  a  benefactor  to  all." 

"  A  benefactor  to  all,"  Ernestine  repeated  thoughtfully. 
"All  the  less  should  any  one  individual  boast  of  his 
kindness, — a  kindness  shown  to  all,  without  respect  of 
persons." 

Leonhardt  involuntarily  turned  his  darkened  eyes 
towards  her  as  she  spoke  thus.  "  Go,  Kiithchen,"  he 
said,  "Friiulein  Ernestine  will  come  by-and-by." 

Kiithchen  went  into  the  house,  and,  not  finding  Walter 
in  the  sitting-room,  mounted  to  his  study,  in  the  upper 
story,  just  under  the  i*oof.  She  nestled  up  to  his  side  and 
said,  with  an  air  of  great  mystery,  "Only  think!  the 
lady  of  the  castle  has  kissed  me  again !" 

"Not  possible!"  laughed  Walter.  "And  do  you  feel 
nothing  queer  ?" 

"Of  course  not,"  Kiithchen  cried  in  some  confusion. 
"  She  can't  bewitch  me." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  try  her,"  said  Walter  with  an  invol- 
untary sigh.  "  I  think,  if  I  had  been  in  your  place,  I 
should  have  felt  the  enchantment  instantly." 

43* 


510  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"Why,  you  told  me  yourself  there  was  no  such  thing," 
said  Kiithchen. 

"Well,  Kiithi,"  said  the  young  man,  "it  would  be  as 
well,  perhaps,  for  the  sake  of  precaution,  that  I  should 
kiss  off  her  kisses.  Where  was  it? — here?" 

"  Yes,  and  here  on  my  forehead,  and  on  my  shoulder." 

"  There,  we  will  put  an  end  to  all  that,"  cried  Walter, 
as  he  kissed  the  child.  "And  now  go  down-stairs.  I 
must  work  " 

"  Oh,  you  always  have  to  work,"  Kathchen  complained. 

"  Yes,  you  school-children  have  the  best  time,  with 
nothing  to  do  but  laugh  and  play,  while  I  have  all  the 
studying.  Go  now,  and  when  the  Fraulein  comes  in 
from  the  garden,  come  and  call  me." 

"  Yes,  I'll  call  you.  Good-by.  But  promise  me  that 
you  wont  tell  that  the  Fraulein  kissed  me.  They  would 
all  scold  and  laugh  at  me." 

"  Oh,  no, — not  for  the  world.  Where's  the  use  of  telling 
everything?  But  you  mustn't  love  the  Fraulein  better 
than  you  do  me,  or  I  must  tell  your  mother." 

"Oh,  no.  I  love  you  best  of  all  the  world!"  cried 
Kathchen,  shutting  the  door  behind  her  with  emphasis. 
She  had  been  but  a  few  moments  with  Gretchen  and 
Frau  Brigitta  when  Ernestine  entered  with  Leonhardt. 
Both  looked  agitated,  and  Ernestine's  eyes  showed  traces 
of  tears. 

Kathchen  would  have  gone  to  call  Walter,  as  she  had 
been  told  to  do. 

"  Stay,  Kathchen,"  said  Ernestine,  "  I  will  go  up  to 
Herr  Leonhardt  myself  and  see  what  he  is  doing." 

And  she  took  Father  Leonhardt's  arm,  and  with  him 
ascended  the  narrow  staircase. 

Walter  sprang  up,  with  flushed  cheeks,  when  Ernestine 
and  his  father  entered  his  room. 

"  Have  you  come  all  the  way  up  here  ?"  he  exclaimed, 
"you,  before  whom  I  stand  humbly  as  a  mere  pupil, — re- 
vering you  almost  as  the  very  personification  of  Science?" 

"  Do  not  speak  thus,  Walter, — you  do  not  know  what 
you  are  saying.  I  have,  through  much  pain,  obtained  the 
victory  over  self,  and  will  content  myself  with  my  lot  as 
a  woman,  but  I  am  weak,  and  such  speeches  might  easily 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  51 1 

arouse  again  within  me  the  demon  of  ambition.  You 
mean  it  kindly,  but,  now  that  I  stand  on  the  borders  of 
the  realm  I  have  forsaken,  I  must  not  listen  to  any  voice 
recalling  me  to  that  dear  old  home.  I  have  come  to  take 
leave  of  you.  Your  father  will  tell  you  wherefore  and 
whither  I  am  going.'' 

"  Oh,  Fraulein  Ernestine,  are  you  going  away  ?  and 
are  you  going  to  give  up  your  studies  too  ?" 

"  I  must  resign  them,  Walter,  or  at  least  all  scientific 
pursuits.  My  knowledge  must  be  to  me  now  a  means  of 
support,  and  in  these  days  it  can  serve  me  only  in  the  posi- 
tion of  a  governess.  I  must  content  myself  with  teach- 
ing in  a  girls'  school.  Men  do  not  want  women  for  pro- 
fessors, and  no  man  wants  a  professor  for  a  wife.  The 
world  is  not  what  I  dreamed, —there  is  no  place  in  it  for 
a  woman's  efforts,  and  I  am  too  weak  to  create  one  for 
myself." 

"  What  a  shame  it  is,"  said  Walter,  "  that  such  a 
woman  should  need  to  create  a  place  for  herself!  she 
should  be  placed  upon  a  pedestal  and  worshipped,  if  only 
for  the  sake  of  such  a  mind  in  such  a  body." 

Leonhardt  laid  his  hand  in  warning  upon  the  boy's  arm. 

"  Father,  I  must  speak,"  he  went  on.  "  I  must  give 
some  relief  to  the  indignation  that  fills  me  at  the  idea  of 
such  a  nature's  being  condemned  to  contend  in  the  world 
for  the  bare  means  of  subsistence." 

Ernestine  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sighed  heavily. 

Leouhardt  shook  his  head  disapprovingly  at  his  son. 
"It  is  not  kind,  Walter,  to  make  the  sacrifice  harder  than 
it  need  be.  Ernestine  is  and  always  must  be  noble,  and 
never  was  she  nobler  than  in  her  present  resolution. 
We  cannot  change  the  world,  Walter,  and  Ernestine  is 
a  woman, — she  must  submit." 

"  Yes,  submit !"  she  repeated,  and  there  was  a  keener 
pain  in  her  accents. 

"  Fniulein  Ernestine,"  Walter  implored  her,  "  forgive 
me  if  I  have  revived  buried  griefs.  I  meant  well, — I 
cannot  tell  you  what  pain  it  gives  me  to  see  you  giving 
up  what  is  so  dear  to  you,  and  for  me  your  going  is  like 
the  departure  of  his  muse  to  the  poet, — the  vanishing  of 
his  saint  to  the  rapt  devotee." 


512  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Walter,"  Ernestine  said  gravely,  "  your  words  tempt 
me  sorely,  but,  I  hope,  for  the  last  time.  I  will  resist 
them,  and  when  you  are  older  you  will  know  why  I  do 
so.  You  are  very  young,  Walter.  It  is  not  long,  scarcely 
six  weeks,  since  I  was  so  too.  In  this  short  time  I  have 
grown  older  by  six  years,  and  the  world  and  mankind  are 
changed  in  my  eyes, — I  must  struggle  now  for  the  simple 
means  of  subsistence." 

She  went  to  the  bookshelves,  on  which  the  bright  rays 
of  the  sun  were  just  falling.  "  Yes,  dear  old  Darwin,  your 
famous  name  still  shines  brightly  upon  me.  I  now  begin 
to  understand  you  and  to  appreciate  the  sublime  import 
of  your  teachings." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  Walter,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes.  "  Thank  you  for  the  opportunity  of  trying  my 
strength  for  one  moment.  It  has  been  a  melancholy  sat- 
isfaction. A  bright  future  is  before  you ;  if  I  have  con- 
tributed in  a  degree  to  the  realization  of  your  hopes  in 
life,  I  will  descend  cheerfully  from  the  heights  I  dreamed 
of, — I  have  not  lived  in  vain.  I  must  go." 

She  looked  around  the  room.  Wherever  her  glance  fell, 
it  rested  upon  some  of  her  books  or  instruments.  "Keep 
all  these  things  for  me,  Walter, — perhaps  I  may  reclaim 
them  at  some  future  day."  Again  tears  filled  her  eyes. 
She  knew  she  was  never  again  to  possess,  what  had  been 
so  long  the  sole  joy  of  her  life,  the  companions  of  her 
labours.  "  No,  let  them  go.  I  release  from  my  service 
the  spirits  prisoned  in  these  instruments  that  have  brought 
the  stars  near  to  me  and  revealed  the  hidden  mysteries 
of  the  earth  to  my  asking  eyes.  They  can  serve  me  no 
longer, — I  must  return  to  the  every-day  world, — the  spell 
is  broken, — knowledge  and  sight  are  mine  no  longer." 

She  left  the  room  noiselessly,  and  her  old  friend  fol- 
lowed her. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  carriage  rolled  away 
from  the  school-house  towards  the  castle,  and  the  Leon- 
hardts,  father  and  son,  stood  on  the  threshold,  the  one 
gazing  after  the  distant  carriage,  the  other  listening  in- 
tently to  the  last  sound  of  its  wheels. 

Ernestine,  sunk  in  thought,  was  leaning  back  in  the 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  513 

vehicle,  when  she  suddenly  called  to  the  coachman  to  stop. 
They  were  just  passing  the  church. 

"  Stay  here  and  wait  for  me, "she  said  to  Gretchen.  "I 
must  go  in  here  for  a  moment." 

She  got  out,  and  went  to  the  door,  which  stood  ajar. 
Her  hand  lingered  on  the  latch.  What  impelled  her 
thus  irresistibly  to  enter  this  poor  little  village  church  ? — 
Memory  !  Like  a  painted  curtain,  all  the  events,  thoughts, 
experiences,  of  the  last  ten  years  were  hung  around  the 
low  portal.  Again  she  stood  before  the  church-door  of 
her  northern  home,  a  trembling,  longing,  doubting,  de- 
spairing child.  "  Enter,  and  learn  to  kneel,"  the  same 
voice  within  that  spoke  then  was  speaking  now.  And  she 
entered,  softly  and  timidly.  It  was  empty  and  quiet, — 
the  people  were  all  at  their  work.  The  floor  between  the 
benches  was  strewn  with  green  box  twigs  from  the  last 
holiday,  and  the  atmosphere  was  filled  with  the  odour  of 
incense.  Through  the  painted  window  the  sun  threw 
many-coloured  rays  upon  a  picture  of  the  Virgin.  A 
swallow,  scared  from  his  summer's  nest  in  the  dome,  flew 
circling  above  Ernestine's  head,  like  the  dove  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  Ernestine  slowly  passed  the  quiet  confessionals, 
where  so  many  sorrow-laden  hearts  had  unburdened  them- 
selves of  their  weight  of  woe  and  received  forgiveness  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord.  She  thought  with  compassion  of 
the  cumbrous  formalities  that  separated  these  wandering 
souls  from  their  hope  and  trust.  "Straight  to  Him," 
breathed  the  voice  within,  and  she  passed  with  quick- 
ened steps  over  the  soft,  leaf-strewn  floor,  directly  to  the 
altar.  Was  it  the  same  at  which  she  had  knelt  and  wept 
ten  years  before  ?  Whether  it  were  or  not,  He  was  the 
same  Divine  One  whose  image  looked  down  from  the  cross, 
touching  her  heart  now  as  it  had  touched  it  then.  She  knew 
now  that  she  had  but  completed  a  circle,  and  had  come  back 
to  the  point  at  which  she  had  been  ten  years  before. 

And  she  extended  her  arms  and  fell  upon  her  knees. 
"Father,"  she  cried,  "I  have  come  back, — receive  mel 
ah,  receive  me  I" 


514  ONLY  A    GIRL; 


CHAPTER   XI. 

"  GIVE    US   THIS   DAY   OUR,   DAILY   BREAD." 

"WHAT  a  hard  winter  we  are  having!"  said  Ernes- 
tine to  herself,  looking  thoughtfully  out  through  the  dim 
panes  of  the  little  window  by  which  she  was  sitting, 
upon  the  roofs  of  the  houses  that  bounded  her  prospect. 
They  were  covered  with  snow,  that  lay  thick  also  on 
the  outside  window-sill.  She  sat  with  her  hands  wrapped 
in  her  cotton  apron.  "  Well,  I  wanted  to  know  every- 
thing,— why  not  poverty,  and  hunger,  and  cold, — the 
mighty  foes  with  which  humanity  is  always  contending? 
I  could  philosophize  excellently  well  upon  abstinence  in 
a  warm  room,  by  a  well-spread  table,  and  am  I  to  shrink 
now?  No,  no  !  no  living  soul  shall  ever  hear  me  ask  for 
help." 

She  stood  up,  and  walked  firmly  to  and  fro. 

The  room  was  a  gloomy  garret,  a  kind  of  kitchen, — at 
all  events,  there  was  a  cooking-stove  in  it,  and  a  cupboard 
containing  articles  of  crockery.  The  floor  was  paved  with 
stone. 

Ernestine's  feet  were  bitter  cold.  "  I  wonder  what 
o'clock  it  is,"  she  thought.  "  The  postman  ought  to  be 
here  soon.  It  is  terrible  to  have  nothing  to  mark  the 
time." 

She  listened  to  catch  the  striking  of  a  church-clock 
— going  to  the  window  and  letting  her  eyes  wander  over 
the  white  roofs  in  search  of  a  distant  tower.  There 
was  no  sun  visible  through  the  snowy  air.  It  was  a 
genuine  winter's  day. 

At  a  window  just  opposite,  a  little  boy  breathed  upon 
the  frosty  pane  and  made  two  round  peep-holes,  through 
which  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  beamed  at  her.  She  nodded 
to  them — she  knew  the  pretty  child  well.  The  little  head 
behind  the  peep-holes  nodded  in  its  turn.  She  thought 


OR   A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  515 

of  Little  Kay  and  her  northern  winter.  Then  the  snow 
before  the  window  rose  like  white  clouds  hiding  the 
prospect,  and,  gradually  taking  a  human  shape  clothed 
in  wide  flowing  robes,  that  began  to  sparkle  and  glitter  as 
if  strewn  with  diamonds,  and  a  veil  of  frozen  gossamer 
fluttered  in  the  air.  And  beneath  the  veil  there  looked 
at  her  through  the  window  a  white  face,  with  fixed  trans- 
parent eyes  like  crystal,  and  upon  the  beautiful  brow  was 
a  diadem  of  icicles  made*  of  the  tears  of  all  who  had 
perished  in  the  ice  and  snow  since  the  world  was  made, 
and  of  all  who  starve  and  freeze  in  winter-time, — a  diadem 
richer  in  pearls  than  that  of  any  earthly  monarch.  The 
mighty  form  had  on  one  arm  a  shield, — but  it  was  a  plate 
of  the  ice  upon  which  had  been  wrecked  the  ships  that 
sought  to  penetrate  the  inhospitable  kingdom  of  the  Snow- 
queen  around  the  north  pole.  With  the  other  hand  she 
was  leading  away  the  little  boy  from  over  the  way, — she 
longed  for  some  coral  to  adorn  her  colourless  robes,  for 
a  few  drops  of  warm  human  blood.  It  was  the  Snow- 
queen  of  the  fairy-dreams  of  Ernestine's  childhood.  But 
she  was  more  majestic  and  gloomy  than  formerly,  and 
she  spoke  other  words  to  her  now  : 

"  I  know  you, — you  never  feared  me  as  you  do  now  that 
you  have  no  warm  roof,  no  firm  walls,  to  protect  you  from 
my  icy  breath.  But  I  wTill  not  harm  you, — you  belong  to 
those  who  believe  in  the  future  of  my  dominion,  who 
know  that  in  thousands  and  thousands  of  years  it  must 
spread  over  the  whole  world,  when  all  this  swarming 
life  will  have  passed  to  other  spheres.  Then  my  time 
will  come, — there  will  be  quiet,  eternal  icy  quiet,  here 
below, — and  I  will  laugh  at  the  old  extinguished  sun,  glim- 
mering like  a  burnt-out  coal  and  envying  me  my  diamond 
palace  which  he  can  no  longer  melt  away." 

Thus  spoke  the  Snow-queen  to  the  dreaming  woman  of 
science,  and  there  was  a  cold  pain  at  her  heart, — sorrow 
for  the  end  of  Being  here  below,  sorrow  at  "the  judgment- 
day  of  an  eternal  glacial  period,"  as  Du  Bois  has  it. 

The  Snow-queen  had  vanished,  and  Little  Kay  with 
her, — a  thick  snow-storm  hid  from  view  the  path  that  she 
had  taken. 

Slowly  and  weakly,  as  if  the  clock  were  frozen  and 


516  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

could  thaw  only  by  degrees,  twelve  o'clock  struck  from 
the  church-tower. 

Ernestine  did  not  hear  it.  She  sat  with  her  head  lean- 
ing against  the  window.  The  voice  of  the  Snow-queen 
sounded  in  her  ears,  "  Open  your  eyes,  and  see  !" 

And  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw  across  billions  of 
years.  The  sun,  its  fires  only  dimly  burning,  hung, 
a  bloody  disk  in  the  skies,  heavy  brooding  clouds  were 
tinged  with  dull  red,  and  twilight  rested  over  the  cold 
earth.  Upon  its  hardened  surface  only  a  few  wretched 
irnbruted  creatures  crawled,  seeking  to  sustain  life  upon 
the  scanty  remains  of  a  decaying  vegetation. 

Sadly  Ernestine  closed  her  eyes  upon  the  painful 
picture. 

But  she  was  again  commanded  to  look  abroad.  Cen- 
turies swept  on,  and  all  grew  darker  and  colder.  The 
red  disk  faded,  and  all  colour  with  it.  Ernestine  marked 
it  all  vanish  in  a  dull  gray.  Weary  with  fruitless  strug- 
gle, the  last  remains  of  organic  life  lay  down  in  eternal 
rest. 

It  was  night  at  last.  Still  the  earthly  sphere  performed 
its  appointed  circuit  around  the  charred  mass  that  was 
once  its  sun.  But  the  mighty  firmament  was  clear  and 
cloudless, — the  lifeless  earth  exhaled  no  mists  to  obscure 
the  light  of  the  distant  stars,  which  revealed  to  Ernestine 
immeasurable  depths  and  immense  heights  of  frozen  seas 
and  oceans  amid  eternal  repose, — the  world  was  only  a 
gigantic  memorial  of  things  that  were. 

"  But  where,  and  in  what  guise,  are  the  transformed 
forces  of  this  spent  world  now  lingering?"  asked  Ernestine. 
"Nothing  in  the  great  Universe  is  lost." 

"Ah!  good  heavens!  here  you  are  sitting  dreaming 
in  this  cold  kitchen  !"  suddenly  said  a  clear,  bright  voice. 
"  No  fire  on  the  hearth, — no  dinner  made;  or,  let  me  see, — 
yes, — but  how  ?  Burnt  to  a  cinder.  My  dear  Ernestine, 
what  have  you  been  doing?" 

Ernestine  had  sprung  up,  and  was  staring  at  the  speaker 
as  if  she  had  come  from  another  world. 

Gretchen,  for  she  it  was,  laid  aside  a  couple  of  school-^ 
books  that  she  had  under  her  arm,  threw  off  her  cloak  and" 
hood,  and  busied  herself  with  the  neglected  soup.  "  I 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  51? 

understand, — first  you  kindled  a  huge  fire,  and  then 
never  thought  of  it  again.  The  soup  is  not  skimmed, 
and  the  beef  is  burned,  and  yet  half  raw.  You  cannot 
have  looked  at  it  for  at  least  an  hour." 

"  It  is  such  a  pity  that  we  had  to  sell  my  watch," 
Ernestine  excused  herself.  "  I  never  know  now  how  the 
time  goes." 

"  Xonsense !"  said  Gretcben,  "  you  can  surely  tell  with- 
out a  watch  whether  the  soup  boils  and  the  fire  burns  or 
not.  Only  try,  and  all  will  go  right.  You  have  often 
proved  that  you  can  really  cook  quite  well  if  you  will 
only  take  pains.  But  I  cannot  trust  you  with  soup  and 
beef  again, — you  forget  everything  when  once  you  begin 
to  dream." 

"  Gretchen,  don't  be  angry,"  pleaded  Ernestine. 

"  But  here  is  all  the  food  spoiled  that  was  so  hardly 
earned,  and  we  have  not  a  single  groschen  in  the  house, 
and  shall  not  have,  until  my  money  is  paid  me  to-morrow." 
And  tears  of  vexation  came  into  Gretchen's  eyes.  "  I  care 
more  about  you  than  about  myself.  I  am  strong,  and  do 
not  need  meat ;  but  you, — indeed  you  ought  to  think  of 
yourself,  if  not  of  me  !" 

Ernestine,  in  her  confusion,  looked  from  the  saucepan 
to  Gretchen,  and  from  Gretchen  to  the  saucepan,  in  dis- 
may. "You  are  right,"  she  said, — "it  is  unpardonable 
not  to  take  care  that  you,  poor  child,  should  have  some- 
thing hot  and  good  when  you  come  home  wearied  from 
your  work.  Indeed  I  am  a  useless  creature  !" 

Gretchen  was  instantly  appeased.  She  laughed,  and 
threw  her  arms  around  Ernestine.  "  Ah  !  my  beautiful, 
grand,  intellectual  sister,  it  is  too  bad  to  scold  you  !  Just 
hear  my  queenly  Ernestine  sue  for  pardon,  like  some  poor 
Cinderella,  and  all  for  a  piece  of  burnt  meat !  Don't  mind 
it,  dear.  You  can't  think  how  touching  your  humility  is. 
Why,  I  could  kneel  at  your  feet,  if  you  would  let  me." 
She  kissed  her  sister's  lips.  "Oh,  what  a  poor  distressed 
face  !  Don't  you  know,  dearest  Ernestine,  that  the  sight 
of  that  face  is  more  to  me  than  all  the  dinners  in  the 
world  ?"  And  she  laughed  as  merrily  as  a  child. 

Ernestine  returned  her  embrace.  "  There,  you  forgive 
me,"  she  said  tenderly. 

44 


518  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Oh,  no,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Gretchen,  "I  will 
educate  you.  But  enough  of  this.  We  must  proceed  to 
business  at  once.  I  must  go  back  to  school  at  two  o'clock, 
and  we  cannot  starve.  We  must  give  up  the  meat  for 
to-day.  There  is  no  help  for  it.  We  must  indulge  our- 
selves in  the  luxury  of  an  omelet." 

"  Let  me  make  it,"  Ernestine  begged.  "  Sit  down  and 
rest  yourself,  you  are  tired." 

"What!  let  you  make  it?"  asked  Gretchen.  "That 
would  be  wise  indeed.  Suppose  you  spoiled  it,  what 
should  we  do  then  ?"  And  she  took  out  a  basket  con- 
taining eggs.  "We  have  just  eggs  enough  for  one  ome- 
let, and  no  more. 

'Entrann'  er  jetzo  kraftlos  meinen  Handen, 
Ich  babe  keinen  zweiten  zu  versenden/ 

as  Schiller  makes  Tell  say  when  he  had  no  second  string 
to  his  bow." 

"Indeed,  Gretchen, "pleaded  Ernestine,"  I  will  not  spoil 
it.  I  should  be  so  glad  to  recover  your  good  opinion, — 
only  let  me  try." 

"Dearest,  darling  Ernestine,"  said  Gretchen,  "trust 
me,  we  cannot  indulge  in  experiments  any  longer.  While 
we  had  a  little  money,  it  did  not  make  much  difference 
if  we  had  a  spoiled  dish  now  and  then,  but  now  we 
must  save  every  groschen, — there  is  no  help  for  it." 
And  she  began  to  beat  the  eggs,  while  Ernestine  put 
more  wood  in  the  stove. 

"  Never  mind  that !"  cried  Gretchen.  "  If  you  want 
to  do  something,  dress  the  salad.  But  make  haste,  the 
omelet  will  be  ready  io  an  instant." 

Ernestine  made  all  the  haste  she  could, — she  was  so 
anxious  to  do  something. 

Suddenly  Gretchen,  who  was  busy  at  the  fire,  heard 
a  low  exclamation,  and,  turning,  she  saw  Ernestine 
standing  with  a  face  of  despair  before  the  salad-bowl, 
with  the  oil-bottle  in  her  hand.  "What  have  you  done?" 
cried  Gretchen,  hastening  to  her  side.  "  Not  got  hold 
of  the  wrong  bottle,  I  hope  ?"  But  one  sniff  at  the 
salad  was  enough.  "Bless  me!  she  has  put  petroleum 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  519 

into  it !  Now  we  must  sit  in  the  dark  this  evening, — our 
week's  supply  is  exhausted.  Such  nice  salad  and  such 
good  petroleum,  each  so  valuable  by  itself  and  so  worth- 
less mixed  !  Now,  dear  Ernestine,  you  cannot  ask  me  to 
permit  you  to  stay  in  the  kitchen  a  moment  longer.  This 
is  one  of  your  unlucky  days."  And,  with  a  comical  air 
of  pathos,  she  untied  and  took  off  her  sister's  apron. 
"  Herewith  I  solemnly  depose  you  from  your  responsible 
office.  You  have  to-day  shown  yourself  entirely  un- 
worthy to  wear  this  ornament.  Now  go  into  the  next 
room,  and  wait  quietly  until  I  bring  the  omelet  in  to 
you."  And  she  opened  the  door  and  led  Ernestine  from 
the  room. 

When  she  went  to  her,  shortly  afterwards,  she  found 
her  sitting  sewing,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping.  "Dar- 
ling," she  said  to  her,  "I  do  believe  you  are  crying  about 
that  trifle !  I  must  be  a  little  strict  with  you,  you  see,  or 
you  will  never  learn  to  economize  and  take  care  of  things. 
Ernestine  dear,  you  are  not  vexed  with  me  for  scolding 
you?  I  was  only  in  jest" 

"  How  could  I  be  vexed  with  you  ?  I  am  crying  be- 
cause I  am  of  no  earthly  use  in  the  world  !  If  it  were  not 
for  you,  you  angel,  what  would  become  of  me  ?  There  is 
no  child  eight  years  old  more  clumsy  and  awkward  than 
I.  Who  would  bear  with  me  as  you  do  ?  Do  you  think 
I  am  not  humiliated  by  these  thoughts?  For  these  last 
two  months,  ever  since  my  money  was  exhausted,  you 
have  supported  me  by  your  hard  work  at  that  school,  and 
I  could  do  nothing  for  you  but  prepare  our  frugal  noon- 
day meal  while  jou  are  away,  and  now  I  cannot  even 
do  that !  It  is  shameful  !  Have  I  made  the  most  com- 
plicated chemical  combinations,  and  yet  can  I  not  make 
decent  soup  ?  Have  I  overcome  the  greatest  difficulties, 
and  yet  are  these  simple  tasks  beyond  me  ?  This  cannot 
go  on.  I  promise  you  I  will  take  myself  in  hand,  and 
you  shall  not  have  to  fast  again  when  you  come  from 
school." 

"  My  dear  Ernestine,  I  do  not  believe  you  can  ever 
learn  these  things.  They  are  too  far  beneath  you." 

'•  My  superiority  is  truly  deplorable,"  replied  Ernes- 
tine. "  It  does  not  help  me  to  discharge  the  smallest  duty. 


520  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Difficulties  always  incite  me,  and,  now  that  I  see  how 
difficult  these  trifles  are,  I  am  determined  to  master 
them." 

Gretchen  handed  her  a  piece  of  the  omelet.  "Now 
put  away  your  work,  or  your  dinner  will  be  quite  cold." 

Ernestine  laid  aside  the  skirt  upon  which  she  was 
working.  "  I  shall  never  get  it  together  again.  I  wish 
I  had  not  ripped  it  apart!" 

"  Why,  you  could  never  have  worn  it,  with  the  front 
breadth  so  scorched.  But  I  will  help  you  this  even- 
ing. It  is  my  fault  that  you  scorched  it, — I  should  not 
have  let  you  make  the  fire, — so  it  is  no  more  than  rea- 
sonable that  I  should  help  you  to  repair  the  injury.  But, 
Ernestine  dear,  you  do  not  eat." 

"  I  have  had  enough.  If  you  would  have  allowed 
me,  I  could  have  made  two  omelets  out  of  those  eggs." 

Gretchen  laughed  merrily.  "  Hear  her  say  how  much 
better  she  could  have  made  it  !  Well,  only  wait,  day 
after  to-morrow  is  Sunday,  and  I  shall  be  at  home,  and  then 
you  may  cook  as  much  as  you  please,  under  my  direc- 
tion. That  will  be  a  real  holiday  for  you." 

"  Ah,  Gretchen,  how  often  I  think  of  the  Staatsrathin, 
when  she  wanted  to  teach  me  to  prepare  the  beans  for 
cooking,  and  I  felt  it  an  occupation  so  far  beneath  my 
dignity  \  I  did  not  understand  her  then,  but  I  have 
learned  to  do  so  now."  She  sat  lost  in  sad  reflections. 

Gretchen  looked  at  Ernestine's  plate,  and  shook  her 
head.  "  What  shall  I  get  for  you  that  you  can  eat  ?  If 
you  would  only  let  me  accept  something  now  and  then 
from  my  guardian.  He  would  be  so  glad  to  assist  us." 

"Gretchen,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  what  he  gives 
you,"  said  Ernestine  gravely,  "but  no  morsel  that  he  might 
send  us  should  pass  my  lips,  any  more  than  I  would  ac- 
cept one  of  the  two  dresses  he  sent  to  you.  I  know  I 
am  severe,  for  I  force  you  to  starve  with  me,  but,  God 
willing," — and  she  uttered  the  name  of  God  with  more 
reverence  than  is  usually  shown  by  those  who  have  it 
constantly  on  their  lips, — "  it  will  not  last  much  longer. 
I  must  surely  obtain  a  situation  soon,  and  then  you,  you 
dear,  faithful  child,  will  be  free  to  return  to  the  Mollners, 
or  whithersoever  you  choose,  and  begin  to  enjoy  your  young 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  521 

life.  I  will  confess  to  you,  Gretchen,  that  I  wrote  again, 
the  day  before  yesterday,  to  the  agent  in  Frankfort,  beg- 
ging him  to  do  all  that  he  could  for  me.  There  must  be 
a  place  for  me  somewhere  in  this  wide  world." 

She  threaded  her  needle  with  difficulty,  and  began  to 
sew  again.  Two  large  tears  fell  upon  her  work,  but  she 
brushed  them  hastily  away,  that  Gretchen  might  not  see 
them. 

"Dear  Ernestine,"  Gretchen  said,  when  she  had  carried 
away  the  plates,  "  I  must  go  now,  for  half-past  one  has 
struck.  Do  not  sew  too  long,  and  pray  forget  your  sad 
thoughts.  Some  place  for  you  is  sure  to  offer.  It  would, 
to  be  sure,  have  been  better  if  we  could  have  lived  in 
Frankfort,  instead  of  coming  out  here  to  Rothelheim. 
Then  you  would  have  been  able  to  see  the  people  your- 
self. But  the  living  there  was  really  too  expensive,  and  I 
was  certain  of  employment  here.  Oh,  if  people  only 
knew  you,  they  would  seize  upon  you  instantly.  If  I 
could  only  induce  my  good  directress  to  see  you,  she  never 
could  withstand  you !  Now  good-by,  dearest  and  best, 
— all  good  spirits  protect  you  in  the  dark, — you  know 
we  have  no  light  this  evening!" 

"Never  mind  that,  Gretchen.  I  will  think  of  father 
Leonhardt,  who  is  always  in  the  dark,  while  for  us  the 
sun  will  surely  rise  again." 

"Yes indeed,  Ernestine,  always  remember  that, — 'The 
sun  will  surely  rise  for  us,' "  Gretchen  called  back  into 
the  room  from  the  doorway. 

"  In  that  sense  ?  Who  .can  tell  ?"  Ernestine  thought 
sadly. 

She  looked  for  a  moment  irresolutely  at  the  little  spider- 
legged  table  that  served  as  dining- and  writing-table.  She 
would  so  like  to  write  to  Walter.  It  was  now  over  a 
week  since  she  had  heard  from  him,  and  her  scientific 
correspondence  with  this  young  friend  was  her  sole  self- 
indulgence, — the  only  tie  that  still  connected  her  with  her 
former  pursuits.  In  all  his  letters  he  told  her  of  his 
progress,  asked  her  opinion  upon  many  points,  and  glowed 
with  enthusiasm  for  her  genius.  She  could  scarcely  with- 
stand the  temptation  to  devote  the  time  while  it  was  yet 

44* 


522  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

light  to  writing.  Her  heart  was  still  full  of  the  wonder- 
ful dreams  of  the  morning. 

But  she  looked  down  at  the  skirt  upon  which  she  was 
working,  and  which  she  really  stood  in  need  of,  and 
thought,  "  No,  I  was  thoughtless  this  morning,  and 
dreamed  away  the  time,  instead  of  cooking.  I  will  be 
conscientious  this  afternoon,  and  work." 

She  seated  herself,  sighing  heavily,  at  the  window,  and 
sewed  on  diligently.  "  Practice  makes  perfect,"  she  had 
said  in  the  essay  that  was  to  procure  her  admission  to 
the  lecture-room  of  the  University.  She  never  dreamed 
then  how  she  was  one  clay  to  prove  the  truth  of  the 
proverb.  If  she  only  had  that  essay  now,  she  thought ! 
She  had  forgotten  to  ask  Dr.  Mollner  for  it,  and  he 
had  it  still.  What  had  he  done  with  it?  Should  she 
reclaim  it  ?  No,  assuredly  not !  He  had  written  to 
her  but  once  since  her  flight  from  Hochstetten,  and  had 
afterwards  sent  her  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  her  furni- 
ture, without  one  friendly  word, — only  transacting  her 
business  for  her  as  formally  as  for  a  stranger.  And 
what  a  letter  that  was  after  her  flight !  She  took  it  out 
to  read  it  once  more,  although  she  had  read  it  already 
again  and  again : 

"  I  understand  you,  Ernestine.  I  expected  this.  It 
would  have  been  unjust  to  our  future  to  put  force  upon 
your  feelings.  God  will  one  day  guide  me  out  of  this 
dilemma.  Until  then,  live  in  peace,  and  gratify  a  pride 
that  I  am  now  convinced  nothing  can  break.  Perhaps  in 
time  it  may  consume  itself,  and  perhaps  love  may  over- 
come it.  I  will  endure,  as  I  have  learned  to  do  since  I 
first  knew  you.  There  is  a  strength  in  you  such  as  I 
never  believed  a  woman  could  possess,  and  with  which  I 
know  not  how  to  contend.  I  do  not  grudge  you  the  tri- 
umph that  this  confession  affords  you.  It  is  a  poor  de- 
light in  comparison  with  that  which  love  would  yield  you, 
if  you  did  not  scorn  it.  Ah,  Ernestine,  could  I  have 
snatched  you  from  your  poverty  to  my  heart  and  homo, 
my  joy  would  have  been  beyond  that  of  mortals.  A 
grateful  smile  from  you  would  have  been  more  than 
\\  Di-lds  to  me.  But  you  do  not  choose,  since  you  would 
sacrifice  nothing  for  me,  to  accept  any  sacrifice  from  me. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  523 

You  choose  to  be  your  husband's  equal  in  all  respects, — 
to  owe  nothing  to  any  human  being.  I  forgive  you  your 
pride  in  this  respect,  for  it  presupposes  an  exaggerated 
self-depreciation.  As  you  think  so  lightly  of  yourself, — 
as  you  do  not  dream  of  your  wealth  of  charms,  of  the 
power  that  you  possess  to  bless  and  enrich, — you  cannot 
believe  that  you  can  bestow  a  treasure  to  the  worth  of 
which  the  wealth  of  the  world  is  nothing.  Perhaps  this  is 
partly  my  fault.  In  my  desire  to  deal  truthfully  with  you, 
I  have  neglected  to  impress  this  fact  upon  you.  But, 
Ernestine,  it  seems  to  me  a  true  woman  does  not  ask, 
'  How  much  do  I  receive,  and  what  can  I  give  in  return  ?' 
She  accepts  in  love  what  is  offered  in  love,  and  is  glad  to 
owe  everything  to  him  to  whom  she  is  everything.  She 
gives  him  all  that  she  can,  and  never  stints  him  of  the 
dearest  delight  that  he  can  have, — that  of  labouring  and 
toiling  for  one  so  dear  to  him.  She  willingly  wears  the 
fetters  of  dependence,  regarding  them  only  as  ties  bind- 
ing her  more  closely  to  the  loved  one.  You  cannot  feel 
so,  Ernestine.  It  would  be  unjust  to  require  it  of  you, 
and  you  were  wrong  if  you  feared  I  should  seek  to  detain 
you  by  force.  I  only  used  force  to  preserve  you  from  a 
menacing  peril.  Now  you  are  safe.  The  world  into  which 
you  are  going  will  be  only  a  school  for  you,  and  you  have 
need  of  this  school.  Therefore,  choose  your  own  path, 
and  prove  the  independence,  your  right  to  which  you  in- 
sist upon  asserting.  I  would  not  exact  what  would  be  a 
blessing  only  as  a  free  gift.  There  was  no  need  of 
your  leaving  us  as  you  did,  without  even  a  farewell  to  . 
my  mother,  who  had  grown  so  fond  of  you  and  nursed 
you  so  tenderly.  It  pained  her  that  you  should  do  so. 

"  I  will  not  speak  of  what  I  suffered  upon  finding  you 
gone  upon  my  return  from  town,  leaving  only  those  few 
lines  of  farewell.  You  are  bent  upon  maintaining  the 
dignity  of  your  sex,  and,  in  such  an  important  under- 
taking, it  is  scarcely  worth  while  to  consider  the  wrecked 
happiness  of  one  human  life. 

"  Farewell,  and,  if  I  can  serve  you  in  anything,  com- 
mand me.  JOHANNES.'' 

When  she  first  received  this  letter,  she  had  sunk  faint- 
ing into  Gretchen's  arms.  Since  then  Mollner's  name 


524  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

had  never  passed  her  lips,  and  almost  five  months  had 
gone  by.  She  had  not  allowed  a  thought  of  him  to  enter 
her  mind,  except  when,  as  now,  some  other  subject  had 
brought  him  vividly  before  her,  and  then  she  punished 
herself  by  quickly  thinking  of  other  things.  Whence 
came  the  tears  that  now  trickled  down  her  cheeks? 
Her  cold,  benumbed  hands  trembled  as  she  wiped  them 
away.  -.She  bravely  choked  them  down,  and  thought — 
poor  child  ! — that  she  was  not  crying,  when  she  swal- 
lowed down  the  bitter  drops  that  welled  up  from  her 
heart.  Such  weeping  is  the  bitterest  of  all. 

The  shades  of  night  fell  fast,  and  she  could  no  longer 
see  to  sew.  There  was  an  end  of  a  candle  on  the  shelf, 
and  she  lighted  it,  but  it  scarcely  barned  half  an  hour 
before  it  died  out  and  she  was  left  in  darkness.  She 
began  to  arrange  and  open  the  narrow  beds  that  stood 
against  the  wall  of  the  room,  and,  as  she  did  so,  thought 
of  her  good  Willmers.  How  kind  it  was  of  the  Frau 
Staatsratbin  to  take  the  faithful  soul  into  her  service! 
Fie !  thinking  of  him  again !  What  weakness !  The 
little  room  grew  darker  and  darker.  The  panes  began  to 
be  covered  with  frost,  and  the  light  from  the  neighbour's 
room  opposite  glittered  in  prismatic  colours  upon  the  ice- 
flowers  and  trees.  They  were  wealthier  over  there  than 
Ernestine,  for  they  could  afford  a  light.  They  had  not 
poured  their  petroleum  on  the  salad,  to  be  sure,  but  then 
they  had  not  been  visited  by  the  Snow-queen  1  Ernestine 
sat  down  wearily  by  her  bed,  and  rested  her  head  on  the 
pillow.  She  felt  better  when  her  body  was  in  entire  re- 
pose, she  thought. 

How  wearily  she  had  lain  upon  her  soft  bed  six  months 
ago  in  Hochstetten  !  And  how  anxious  she  had  been  to 
live !  Would  it  have  been  so  terrible  to  lose  such  a  life 
as  this?  Then  it  seemed  as  if  a  strong,  tender  hand 
clasped  hers,  and  she  felt  a  quick,  anxious  breath  upon  her 
brow.  She  knew  it  well,  and  the  gentle  questioning 
that  was  sure  to  follow, — knew  that  firm,  quiet  pressure 
upon  her  heart  to  count  its  pulsations.  And  if  she  had 
only  clasped  it  fast, — that  strong,  tender  hand, — she  would 
not  now  be  sitting  here  alone  in  the  dark!  "Oh,  Jo- 
hannes !"  she  gasped,  and  extended  her  arms.  Then  there 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  525 

was  a  noise  of  some  one  stumbling  up-stairs, — that  could 
not  be  Gretchen.  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  "  Who 
is  there  ?"  cried  Ernestine,  frightened. 

"  Postman,"  a  rough  voice  answered  from  without. 

"  Oh,  a  letter  from  the  agent,"  thought  Ernestine,  open- 
ing the  door. 

"Four  kreutzers,"  said  the  man,  handing  her  a  letter. 

Ernestine  stood  aghast.  "  Is  it  not  prepaid  ?  I — I 
have  not  a  single  kreutzer  in  the  world — we  shall  have 
no  money  until  to-morrow." 

"No  kreutzers,  and  no  light?  Hm — hm!  Such  a 
beautiful  lady,  with  -no  money  in  her  pocket?  Well, 
well,  you  can  pay  me  to-morrow.  I'll  trust  you  until 
then." 

"  Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind,"  Ernestine  stammered, 
greatly  ashamed.  She  was  obliged  to  run  in  debt  to  the 
postman. 

"  Have  you  no  light,  to  show  me  the  way  down-stairs  ? 
I  shall  break  my  legs  or  my  neck  upon  these  steep,  narrow 
steps." 

"  I  will  lead  you  down.  1  know  the  way,  and  I  must 
go  down  to  read  my  letter  by  a  street-lamp." 

"  Good  God !  what  poverty  !  Go  down  to  the  people 
on  the  lower  floor — they  will  give  you  a  candle-end." 

"  No,  I  will  not.  They  are  not  respectable  people,  and 
I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  The  poorer  one  is, 
the  prouder  one  must  be — so  as  not  to  sink  too  low. 
You  are  a  good  man,  Herr  Bittner.  Tell  no  one  how 
poor  we  are." 

"  No,  if  you  say  so,  but  something  ought  to  be  done 
for  you.  I  have  seen  what  a  hard  time  you  have  had 
of  it  ever  since  you  came  here.  It's  none  of  my  business. 
I  can  only  hope  that  there  may  be  something  good  in  the 
letter  that  I  brought  you, — and  I  do  hope  so,  with  all  my 
heart.  Good-evening." 

"  God  grant  it !"  said  Ernestine,  going  into  the  street 
to  read  her  letter  by  the  gas-lamp  there.  A  fine  snow 
was  falling  again,  and  the  passers-by  looked  at  her  in 
amazement.  The  colour  mounted  to  her  forehead,  but 
she  could  not  wait  until  morning  to  read  this  letter,  which 
she  felt  sure  contained  her  fate.  It  was  from  the  Frank- 


526  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

fort  agent  who  was  to  procure  a  situation  for  her,  and 
was  short  and  to  the  point : 

"  FRATJLEIN  VON  HARTWICH: 

"You  wish  me  to  tell  you  frankly  how  it  is  that  I  have 
as  yet  procured  no  situation  for  you.  I  will  do  so; — for 
I  see  from  your  note  that  you  accuse  me  in  your  thoughts 
of  a  negligence  that  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  guilty  of 
towards  any  one, — least  of  all  towards  yourself. 

"You  yourself,  unfortunately,  Friiulein  von  Hartwicb, 
furnish  the  reason  why  I  have  hitherto  been  unable  to 
procure  a  situation  for  you.  No  agent  in  the  world  would 
be  able  to  find  a  position  as  governess  in  a  respectable 
family  for  a  lady  bearing  such  a  reputation  as  yours. 
For  their  children's  sake,  people  are  unwilling  to  receive 
into  their  houses  a  person  who  has  written  as  you  have 
done  against  religion  and  in  favour  of  the  emancipation 
of  woman.  You  assure  me,  I  know,  that  you  have  altered 
your  opinions,  and  that  you  yourself  now  condemn  these 
writings.  But  no  one  will  believe  in  such  a  forced  con- 
version. Besides,  in  your  advertisement  in  the  papers  you 
referred  to  the  Prorector  of  the  University  at  N ,  with- 
out giving  any  name.  I  can  only  conclude  that  you  must 
have  been  mistaken  in  the  person  of  the  Prorector,  for  the 
present  holder  of  the  office  is  a  Professor  Herbert,  who 
gives  the  strongest  possible  testimony  against  you,  and 
has  already  destroyed  your  prospects  in  three  separate 
instances,  by  referring  people  to  your  books, — after  read- 
ing which,  no  one  would  listen  to  a  word  in  your  behalf." 

Ernestine's  arms  dropped  by  her  sides.  From  delicacy, 
she  had  suppressed  Mollner's  name  in  the  papers,  en- 
tirely forgetting  that  at  this  time  the  office  of  Prorector  was 
held  but  for  a  year  by  one  person.  She  remembered  how 
she  had  mortally  offended  Herbert  on  the  only  occasion 
when  she  had  met  him,  and  she  knew  that  this  man's 
mortified  vanity  had  made  him  her  implacable  foe.  But 
that  was  a  secondary  matter.  The  blameless  need  fear 
no  foe.  It  was  her  own  fault  that  Herbert  had  the  power 
to  destroy  her  prospects.  He  had  not  maligned  her,  he  had 
simply  referred  to  the  books  which  she  had  written.  She 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  527 

had  herself  whetted  tbe  knife  that  he  had  used  against 
her.     She  had  only  herself  to  blame. 

Never  had  the  phantom  of  the  past  loomed  so  mon- 
strously before  her  as  now.  There  she  stood, — she,  who 
bad  thought  herself  able  to  defy  the  world, — starving  and 
freezing  in  the  cold,  reading  by  the  light  of  a  street-lamp 
the  anathema  that  society  hurls  at  the  woman  who  of- 
fends it.  The  iron  wheels  of  conventionality,  in  the  path 
of  which  she  had  so  boldly  thrown  herself,  had  passed 
over  her  prostrate  form.  She  was  only  a  helpless,  deso- 
late woman. 

She  was  scarcely  capable  of  reading  any  further.  She 
held  the  sheet  in  her  trembling  hands,  curing  not  to  deci- 
pher the  few  words  of  condolence  with  which  the  agent 
closed  his  communication.  The  snow-flakes  wetted  the 
paper,  so  that  the  letters  ran  together,  and  in  the  wintry 
wind  it  fluttered  to  and  fro  in  her  hand. 

Her  feet  were  stiff  with  cold  as  she  turned  into  the 
house  again  and  groped  her  way  up  the  dark  staircase. 
Gretchen's  return  was  unusually  delayed,  and  Ernestine 
longed  so  for  her  sympathy  and  advice. 

What  should  she  do  ?  She  could  not  permit  her  sister 
to  sacrifice  the  best  years  of  her  life  to  her  support.  She 
could  no  longer  be  dependent  upon  the  kindness  of  such 
a  child.  What  should  she  attempt  ?  Must  she  beg  from 
door  to  door  ?  How  could  she  earn  her  own  living,  when 
she  had  been  taught  none  of.  the  arts  by  which  to  earn  it? 
In  these  last  few  months  Gretchen  had  taught  her  some- 
thing of  what  was  indispensable  in  such  great  need. 
She  had  never  dreamed  how  difficult  the  things  were  that 
she  had  accounted  so  unimportant.  She  had  come  to  the 
point  where  self-respect  is  imperilled  in  the  struggle  for 
mere  subsistence.  She  wrung  her  hands,  and  called  out 
into  the  darkness,  "  0  God,  take  pity  on  me,  and  guide 
me  through  this  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  !" 

And  the  bitter  doubt  whether  He  would  listen  to  her 
cry  would  arise  within  her  heart.  She  reviewed  in  her 
mind  the  miserable  superficial  essays  that  she  had  writ- 
ten denying  Him,  and  felt  that  she  was  justly  punished. 
How  little  had  she  thought,  when  exulting  in  the  attention 
that  they  had  excited,  that  she  should  ever  feel  herself 


528  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

disgraced  by  their  authorship  !  As  yet,  she  had  uttered 
no  reproach  against  her  uncle.  He  had  expiated  by  his 
death  his  theft  of  her  property,  but  his  crime  against  her 
mind  and  soul  he  could  never  expiate, — this  it  was  that 
now  branded  him  with  infamy  in  her  memory.  What  a 
happy  woman  she  might  now  have  been,  if  he  had  not 
misdirected  her  ambition!  What  friends  might  have 
been  hers,  had  he  not  made  a  misanthrope  of  her!  and 
now,  when  starvation  stared  her  in  the  face,  the  demon 
of  his  teaching  snatched  from  her  lips  the  bread  that  she 
might  have  earned. 

When  Gretchen  at  last  returned,  she  found  Ernestine 
crouching  upon  the  hearth,  gazing  into  the  fire  that  she 
had  kindled  to  warm  her  wet  feet  and  to  cook  the  evening 
meal. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Ernestine  dear?"  she  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"  I  am  praying  for  daily  bread,"  she  replied  in  a  mono- 
tone. 

Poor  Gretchen  listened  sorrowfully  to  all  that  Ernestine 
had  to  tell  her.  She  knew  that  for  such  a  nature  as 
Ernestine's  this  state  of  dependence  and  inactivity  was 
worse  than  death,  and  that  no  love  or  devotion  on  her 
part  could  reconcile  her  proud  sister  to  such  a  lot  She 
could  advise  nothing.  The  only  thing  that  Ernestine 
could  do  for  her  own  support  was,  perhaps,  copying.  But 
who  in  the  little  town  would  have  anything  to  copy  ? 
And  they  could  hardly  live  unless  Ernestine  was  able  to 
earn  something.  Gretchen's  modest  salary  would  hardly 
suffice  to  keep  them  from  starvation.  She  did  not  mind 
any  amount  of  deprivation  for  herself, — but  could  she  see 
Ernestine  pine  and  sicken  for  want  of  nourishing  food  ? 
And  she  had  promised  solemnly  to  accept  no  help  from 
Mollner  or  Hilsborn.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 

After  a  long,  sleepless  night,  she  arose  at  dawn,  and, 
while  Ernestine  was  still  sleeping,  sat  down  and  wrote  to 
Hilsborn.  She  wrote  hurriedly,  and  the  long  letter  was  wet 
with  tears  that  Ernestine  would  have  been  grieved  to  see. 
She  finished  it  before  Ernestine  awoke,  and  her  eyes  be- 
gan to  sparkle  again,  as  if  they  trusted  that  this  letter 
would  change  the  whole  aspect  of  affairs. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  529 

"  Gretchen,"  said  Ernestine,  as  Gretchen  leaned  over 
her  to  give  her  a  morning  kiss,  "how  gay  you  look  !  Do 
you  not  feel  the  heavy  burden  that  I  have  laid  upon  your 
shoulders  ?" 

"  Oh,  Ernestine,"  her  sister  replied,  "  as  long  as  I  have 
you  I  will  be  thankful  for  you,  however  dark  matters  may 
look  outside." 

Ernestine  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  "  Gretehen,  there 
is  a  greatness  in  your  fidelity  and  self-sacrifice  that  I  never 
before  conceived  of.  Now  first  I  know  what  Dr.  Mollner 
meant  by  true  womanliness.  This  womanliness  your 
father  took  from  me, — you,  his  child,  have  restored  it  to 
me.  It  is  the  greatest  gift  you  have  given  me,  and  it 
atones  for  his  depriving  me  of  it." 

Gretchen  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  When  you  say 
so,  I  seem  to  hear  the  angels  tell  me  that  mercy  will  be 
shown  to  my  poor  father.  Indeed,  dear  Ernestine,  you 
are  in  alliance  with  beings  of  a  better  world,  or  you  could 
not  know  how  to  console  and  inspire  me  thus.  Indeed, 
when  you  look  at  me  so  tenderly  I  must  believe  there  is 
redemption  for  the  soul  of  my  father.  What  can  I  do  to 
repay  you  for  such  consolation  ?" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE     THIRD    POWER. 

"  '  WHAT  the  law  of  force  fails  to  accomplish,  the  intel- 
lect will  effect, — where  the  intellect  fails,  love  succeeds !' 
That  was  what  he  said,"  said  Ernestine.  Again  her 
thoughts  were  involuntarily  occupied  with  Johannes.  "  I 
wish  I  could  write  the  sermons  for  his  reverence,  instead 
of  copying  them, — that  would  be  such  an  excellent  text." 
Thus  she  broke  forth  one  day  while  seated  with  Gretchen 
at  the  table,  where  the  latter  was  busy  finishing  the  new 
dress  that  Hilsborn  had  sent  her. 

45 


530  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Have  you  proposed  it  to  Herr  Pastor  ?"  asked 
Gretchen  with  a  smile. 

"  If  he  were  not  so  conceited,  I  certainly  would  do  so. 
But  I  suppose  he  would  be  offended." 

"  I  rather  suppose  so  too,"  laughed  Gretchen. 

"  There  is  a  Nemesis  in  it,"  said  Ernestine,  as  she 
sat  making  a  pen.  "  Here  am  I,  who  have  hardly  ever 
listened  to  a  sermon  in  my  life,  obliged  to  copy  ser- 
mons for  my  bread.  Well,"  she  added  gravely,  "it  is 
just." 

And  again  her  pen  flew  quickly  over  the  paper.  After 
some  time  she  sat  up,  with  a  long  breath.  "  1  have  learnt 
to  deny  myself  and  to  pray,  but  I  have  yet  to  learn  the 
hardest  task  of  all, — patience." 

"It  must  be  a  terrible  drudgery  to  such  a  mind  as 
yours  merely  to  write  down  the  thoughts  of  another,' 
said  Gretchen. 

"  If  there  only  were  thoughts  here,  but  these  are  no- 
thing but  empty  words.  And  I  must  not  even  correct 
them, — it  is  mental  death  I"  She  wrote  on  for  awhile, 
then  suddenly  raised  her  head  and  broke  out,  "  At  least 
they  might  let  women  have  something  to  do  with  religion, 
if  they  deny  our  right  to  meddle  with  science  or  politics. 
Religion  is  so  much  a  matter  of  feeling,  arid  feeling  is  a 
woman's  prerogative.  Humility,  self-sacrifice,  and  sub- 
mission are  native  to  woman,  and  a  woman's  lips  could 
discourse  far  more  eloquently  than  a  man's  of  these 
Christian  qualities.  Why  should  a  woman  not  be  found 
worthy  to  declare  the  word  of  God  ?  Why?"  She  sup- 
pressed a  sigh.  "  Ah,  the  old  indignation  is  getting  pos- 
session of  me  !  I  will  not  yield  to  it, — such  independence 
of  thought  does  not  become  a  mere  copyist."  She  tried 
to  go  on  with  her  writing,  but  her  cheeks  were  flushed, 
and  the  tears  stood  in  her  eye.-5.  "Oh,  Gretchen,  1  shall 
never  live  it.  down, — this  pity  for  our  poor  sex.  It  will 
always  be  Ihe  same, — any  allusion  to  our  wrongs  cuts  me 
to  the  very  quirk." 

Gretchen  'laid  her  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  "  Dear  Er- 
nestine, we  will  speak  of  this  some  oilier  time.  Now 
remember  that  you  have  promised  that  your  copy  shall 
be  ready  by  four  o'clock." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  531 

"You  are  right.  I  will  finish  it  instantly,"  said  Ernes- 
tine, dipping  the  pen  in  the  ink.  "  No,  I  cannot  let  such 
nonsense  stand  as  it  is!"  sVe  exclaimed  after  a  pause. 
"  The  man  is  going  to  have  the  sermons  printed, — he 
will  thank  me  for  correcting  the  worst  faults." 

"  Ernestine,  take  care, — he  may  be  offended,"  said 
Gretchen. 

"Oh,  no,  surely  I  may  change  a  couple  of  words. 
Whatever  goes  through  my  hands  shall  be  as  free  from 
errors  as  possible." 

Gretchen  shook  her  head. 

Ernestine  completed  her  copy  in  about  half  an  hour, 
and  prepared  to  carry  it  to  the  pastor. 

The  clays  were  beginning  to  grow  longer.  Although 
it  was  past  four  o'clock,  the  winter  sun  was  looking 
brightly  into  the  room,  and  upon  the  roofs  below  their 
windows  the  snow  was  melting  into  little  rills. 

"  Shall  you  be  back  soon  ?"  Gretchen  called  after  Er- 
nestine as  she  went  out. 

"  In  a  very  little  while,"  was  the  answer,  as  the  speaker 
left  the  room  with  her  bundle  of  papers  under  her  arm. 

Gretchen  was  left  alone  in  the  room. 

Another  half-hour  passed.  A  firm  step  was  heard 
ascending  the  stairs.  Gretchen  listened  intently.  Her 
heart  beat  fast  with  joyous  expectancy.  Who  was  it 
that  was  intruding  upon  their  seclusion  ? 

She  had  not  long  to  wait,  there  was  a  loud  knock  at 
the  door.  Gretchen's  "  Come  in"  was  instantly  followed 
by  a  "Thank  God,  'tis  he!"  for  Mollner  stood  upon  the 
threshold. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come, — I  was  sure  my  letter  to 
Ilerr  Hilsborn  would  bring  you, — I  am  delighted !"  cried 
the  girl;  drawing  him  into  the  room.  He  said  nothing  in 
reply  to  her  welcome,  but  let  her  take  his  hat  and  coat, 
and  then,  with  a  glance  around  the  wretched  apartment, 
exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  horror-stricken  compassion,  "  Good 
God!" 

Gretchen  understood  him,  and  gave  him  time  to  recover 
himself. 

At  last  he  asked,  "  Where  is  she  ?" 

"  She  has  gone  to  carry  home  some  copying  that  tho 


532  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

pastor  gave  her  to  do.  She  will  be  here  very  soon.  Do 
not  be  startled  at  seeing  her  look  so  badly.  We  have 
lived  wretchedly  of  late."  . 

Johannes  took  her  band.  "  Gretchen,  can't  you  hide 
me  somewhere?  I  am  not  sufficiently  composed  to  see 
her  at  present, — I  must  collect  myself." 

"  Yes,  come  into  our  kitchen.  I  had  better  prepare 
Ernestine,  too,  for  seeing  you, — she  is  weak,  and  must 
be  treated  with  great  caution." 

She  conducted  him  into  the  little,  cold,  dark  room  that 
she  called  a  kitchen.  "  Look  !  the  poor  girl  has  cooked 
our  wretched  dinners  in  this  place  for  the  last  five  months, 
and  shed  many  a  tear  when  she  spoiled  anything.  Oh, 
if  you  could  have  seen,  as  I  have,  our  proud  Ernestine 
work  and  struggle  and  starve,  you  would  not  have  re- 
frained so  long  from  putting  an  end  to  our  misery." 

"  It  is  well  that  I  could  not  see  it.  I  should  have  been 
unnerved,  and  spoiled  all  by  precipitation." 

"  Forgive  me,  but  indeed  you  are  hard.  Ililsborn 
would  not  have  left  me  here  one  instant  longer  than  he 
could  have  helped.-?' 

"And  he  would  have  been  right,  Gretchen.  But 
Ernestine  and  you  are  very  different  characters.  She 
needed,  and  would  have,  this  struggle  for  life, — even  now 
I  tremble  lest  she  should  refuse  to  let  me  put  'an  end 
to  it." 

"  Oh,  no !  when  you  see  Ernestine,  you  will  acknowledge 
that  it  was  high  time  to  hasten  to  her.  Since  all  her 
efforts  to  obtain  a  situation  have  failed,  her  spirit  seems 
well-nigh  broken.  I  think  in  a  little  while  she  would 
have  been  hopelessly  embittered,  and  her  health  would 
have  given  way  entirely." 

Johannes  threw  himself  into  the  wooden  chair  by  the 
window,  where,  in  the  midst  of  the  hard  prose  of  her 
life,  Ernestine  had  been  visited  by  such  wondrous  dreams. 
"  Here  is  a  letter  to  you,  my  dear  Gretchen,  from  Ililsborn. 
He  would  have  been  only  too  glad  to  come  with  me,  but 
every  moment  of  his  time  is  in  demand." 

"  He  is  good  and  true,"  said  Gretchen,  "  and  I  know  how 
he  trusts  in  me,  but  I  cannot  leave  Ernestine  until  her 
future  is  assured." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  533 

"  You  are  a  noble  child,  Gretchen !  If  Ernestine  had 
the  least  suspicion  of  what  you  are  renouncing  for  her 

sake,  she  would  never  permit "     He  paused,  a  flush 

mounted  to  his  brow,  his  lips  trembled,  as  he  whispered, 
"  There  she  is !  J  hear  her  coming  !  For  God's  sake, 
Gretchen,  give  me  time  to  collect  myself." 

"  I  will  go  and  meet  her,  that  she  may  not  come  in 
here,"  said  Gretchen. 

Johannes  handed  her  a  book.  "  Here,  lay  this  upon 
her  table.  It  is  a  copy  of  the  same  edition  of  Andersen's 
Fairy  Tales  that  I  once  gave  her,  and  that  was  burnt.  It 
may  prepare  her  for  seeing  me." 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  Gretchen  hurried  into  the  next  room, 
and  laid  the  book  in  Ernestine's  work-basket.  She  started 
at  the  haggard  appearance  of  Ernestine  who  entered 
with  eyes  flashing,  and  an  expression  of  sullen  indig- 
nation upon  every  feature. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Ernestine  ?"  she  asked. 

Ernestine  threw  off  her  hat  and  cloak,  wrung  her 
hands,  and  walked  hurriedly  to  and  fro.  "  That  has 
gone  too !" 

"  What,  Ernestine? — what?" 

"  The  pastor  has  refused  to  give  me  any  more  sermons 
to  copy,  because  I  ventured  to  correct  his  errors." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?"  cried  Gretchen,  very  much  relieved. 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  Ernestine  repeated  bitterly.  "  You  say 
that,  because,  faithful  and  true  as  you  are,  you  see  no 
hardship  in  the  prospect  of  supporting  me  again,  without 
any  help  on  my  part,  by  your  own  unwearied  exertions. 
You  can  say,  '  Is  that  all  ?'  but  I,  who  fancied  myself 
the  first  arid  proudest  of  my  sex,  am  a  beggar,  dependent 
upon  charity,  fit  for  nothing  but  the  duties  of  a  common 
maid-servant,  and  not  able  to  perform  even  these  de- 
cently. I  have  lost  all  confidence,. all  hope,  in  myself. 
That  is  all  !" 

Gretchen  caressed  her  lovingly,  and  smiled, — how 
could  she  smile  at  this  moment?  "Ah,  Ernestine,  how 
could  you  reject  Dr.  Mollner  when  he  first  wooed  you  ? 
I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  given  your  heart 
to  him  upon  the  spot.  I  only  hope  you  may  never  know 
what  you  threw  away." 

45* 


534  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

"  Gretchen,"  said  Ernestine  gravely,  "  it  is  long  since 
I  have  learned  what  I  then  rejected.  The  pride  with 
which  I  turned  away  from  him,  refusing  to  sacrifice 
my  foolish  ambition  to  make  myself  a  name,  has  been 
severely  punished.  As  in  our  dreams  we  are  some- 
times borne  aloft  as  upon  wings  into  immeasurable  space, 
until  our  balance  is  lost  and  we  fall  headlong,  awaking 
with  the  shock,  so  my  ambition  carried  me  to  heights 
where  I  could  not  sustain  myself.  I  fell,  but  strong  and 
tender  arms  were  held  out  to  receive  me,  and  I  awoke  to 
find  myself  embraced  by  them  instead  of  prostrate  in  a 
frightful  abyss.  Then,  in  the  confusion  of  my  wakening, 
I  thought  those  sustaining  arms  were  fetters.  I  thrust 
them  from  me,  and  now  I  lie  crushed  and  broken  on  the 
ground."  She  crossed  her  arms  upon  the  table,  and 
bowed  her  head  on  them. 

Gently  Gretcheu  took  the  book  from  the  basket,  and, 
opening  it  where  she  saw  that  Johannes  had  put  a  mark, 
she  silently  pushed  it  towards  Ernestine,  who  raised  her 
head  at  the  touch,  and  at  first  looked  absently  at  the 
pages  before  her,  then  gazed  and  gazed  as  if  utterly 
unable  to  comprehend  what  she  saw.  It  was  her  dear 
old  book, — there  was  the  swan  that  she  had  burned. 
"  Heavens!"  she  cried,  between  laughter  and  tears,  "can 
this  be  real  ?  My  swan  !  My  swan !  Who  brought  rne 
this  ?  Oh,  dreams  of  my  childhood,  who  has  restored 
you  to  me  ?" 

And  she  knelt  beside  the  table,  and  laid  her  cheek  upon 
the  book.  Before  her  closed  eyes  it  was  night  again. 
Before  her  upon  the  table  burned  the  dim  night-lamp, 
and  her  father  lay  asleep  close  at  hand.  She  read  the 
story  of  the  Ugly  Duckling,  and  above  her  softly  rustled 
the  snowy  plumage  of  the  swan,  and  among  her  curls 
trembled  the  leaves  of  the  oak  whence  the  handsome  boy 
had  snatched  her  from  mortal  peril.  And  then  her  father 
awoke,  and  sent  her  up  to  her  uncle.  There  stood  the 
telescope,  through  which  she  was  again  gazing,  thirsting 
for  a  peace  which  her  young  heart  presaged  without  the 
power  to  grasp, — filled  with  longing  to  be  borne  up — 
up  to  those  starry  worlds  gliding  so  silently  through 
space.  She  knew  now  what  she  had  so  desired, — Love  ! 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.f  535 

But  she  searched  for  it  among  those  worlds  in  vain. 
Suddenly  she  was  standing  upon  the  hill  in  the  garden 
of  her  castle,  and  above  her  hovered  the  faithful  little 
mermaid,  in  the  shape  of  a  sunset  cloud,  while  a  deep, 
tender  voice  whispered,  "Poor  swan!"  Here,  here  was 
what  she  sought. 

"  Poor  swan  !"  The  words  sounded  distinctly  now  in 
her  ears,  not  in  her  dreaming  fancy  only.  She  opened 
her  eyes,  and  started  up  with  a  low  cry,  and  would  have 
fled, — fled  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth, — but  she 
could  not  stir  from  the  spot.  She  tottered  and  would 
have  fallen,  but  two  strong  arms  upheld  her,  and  for 
a  moment  she  lost  all  consciousness.  This  was  rest 
indeed. 

"  Shall  I  get  some  water?"  asked  Gretchen. 

"Oh,  no.  Do  not  grudge  me  one  moment,"  said  Jo- 
hannes, clasping  the  lifeless  form  to  his  heart.  "  She  will 
recoil  from  me  as  soon  as  she  comes  to  herself." 

"You  should  not  have  spoken  to  her  so  suddenly," 
said  Gretchen. 

Ernestine  opened  her  eyes,  looked  up  and  around  for 
a  moment  in  bewilderment,  and  then  extricated  herself 
instantly  from  the  arms  in  which  she  had  found  such  rest. 

"  Did  I  not  know  her  well  ?"  Johannes  said,  by  a 
glance,  to  Gretchen. 

"You  came  so  unexpectedly,  —  I  was  weak.  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself,"  she  said,  struggling  for  composure. 

"You  might  be  ashamed,  if  you  could  be  what  you 
call  strong  at  this  moment,"  he  replied.  At  a  sign  from 
him,  Gretchen  withdrew. 

Johannes  gazed  for  a  moment  with  intense  devotion 
into  Ernestine's  eyes.  "  Dear  heart,  let  me  speak  one 
fervent,  last  word  to  you.  I  know  that  I  just  now  held 
another  Ernestine  in  my  arms  than  she  who  fled  from  me 
almost  half  a  year  ago.  I  felt  it  in  the  throbbing  of  your 
heart.  But  fear  nothing,  I  am  not  come  to  take  advan- 
tage of  your  helpless  condition, — to  wring  from  you  a 
decision  which  might  be  stigmatized,  in  your  present 
circumstances,  as  extorted  from  you  by  necessity.  I 
understand  you  now.  Yours  is  a  nature  never  to  yield 
to  pressure  from  without, — it  must  take  form  and 


536  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

direction  from  within.  It  would  be  as  useless  to  at- 
tempt controlling  such  a  nature  by  force  as  to  endeavour 
to  make  a  rose  bloom  by  tearing  open  the  bud.  We 
might  destroy,  but  we  could  not  unfold  it.  I  have  done 
all  that  I  could  to  restore  to  you  what  is  as  necessary 
to  you  as  light  and  air, — your  independence.  You  once 
accused  me  of  selfishness  and  interested  motives.  You 
shall  be  convinced  that  you  did  me  injustice  in  this  re- 
spect." He  drew  a  paper  from  his  breast-pocket.  "  I 
have  succeeded  through  my  friend  Brenter,  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, in  procuring  you  the  offer  of  a  position  as  Teacher 
of  Natural  Science  in  the  famous  Normal  School  estab- 
lished there.  The  place  is  a  capital  one,  and  has  hith- 
erto been  occupied  by  men  only.  You  will  be  entire 
mistress  of  your  time,  with  the  exception  of  the  few 
hours  daily  spent  in  instruction.  You  can  easily  pursue 
your  studies,  and  I  can  procure  you  admission  to  the  sci- 
entific society  of  St.  Petersburg.  Your  life  there  will  be 
what  your  former  ambition  craved.  You  can  earn  your 
livelihood  honourably,  and  sooner  or  later  you  will  have 
an  opportunity  of  attaining  the  goal  of  your  desires, — a 
degree,  for  the  Russian  universities  are  not  so  strict  as 
the  German  in  the  matter  of  admitting  women  to  a 
share  in  their  honours.  Here  is  Brenter's  letter.  You 
see  it  makes  you  independent  of  all  aid,  even  of  mine. 
And  now  I  venture  again  to  ask  you  to  make  a  sacrifice 
tor  me, — a  great  sacrifice.  You  cannot  fear,  if  you  now 
grant  my  suit,  that  any  suspicion  can  be  cast  upon  the 
freedom  of  your  choice,  or  that  you  can  be  accused  of 
being  driven  by  necessity  into  my  arms.  If  you  yield 
now,  you  renounce  brilliant  prospects  for  my  sake.  I 
will  urge  nothing  in  my  own  behalf.  Leave  me,  and 
there  is  a  great  future  before  you.  Be  mine,  and  my 
heart  and  home  stand  wide  open  to  receive  you.  I  will 
only  say,  'Choose,  Ernestine.'" 

"And  have  you  done  this, — this  for  me?"  said  Ernes- 
tine, trembling  with  emotion.  "  How  truly  have  you 
understood  and  respected  my  pride !  How  firm  and  yet 
how  tender  you  are  with  me !  How  can  I  thank  you, 
how  repay  you  ?" 

"  How,  Ernestine  ?    Let  your  own  heart  answer." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  53f 

"I  cannot  listen  to  my  heart  alone.  I  must  do  what- 
ever will  make  me  worthiest  of  such  devoted  love.  What 
shall, — what  should  I  decide?" 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  if  you  do  not  know,  for  the  last  time, 
that  true  pride  will  teach  you  that  you  can  give  me 
nothing  half  so  precious  as  yourself.  The  value  of  this 
gift  no  worldly  wealth  or  honours  could  enhance  True 
humility  will  teach  you  to  yield  your  fate  unquestion- 
ingly  to  the  man  who  gives  you  his  very  life.  Go  from 
me,  and  you  may  be  great,  but  you  cannot  be  womanly; 
and  what  is  such  greatness,  attained  at  the  cost  of  a 
heart?  Give  up  the  false  pride  that  would  seek  fame 
beyond  the  bounds  of  a  woman's  sphere,  and  confess 
that  you  can  do  nothing  greater  than  to  enrich  and 
bless,  as  you  will  when  you  are  what  God 'intended  you 
should  be — a  true,  loving  woman."  He  broke  off.  "But, 
I  repeat,  the  choice  is  yours." 

"The  choice?  Is  there  any  choice  left  for  me  ?"  cried 
Ernestine  with  sparkling  eyes.  "Shall  I  dissemble  now, 
and  try  to  conceal  what  I  have  scarcely  been  able  for  a 
long  time  to  control  ?  What  are  learning  and  fame,  what 
the  pride  of  position  that  you  have  offered  me,  compared 
with  the  happiness  of  this  moment?  Away  with  them 
all,  and  with  my  false  pride  !  My  choice  is  made,  Jo- 
hannes." And  she  sank  upon  his  breast. 

He  clasped  her  as  in  a  dream.  Their  lips  met  in  a  first 
long  kiss,  in  which  the  lover  breathed  forth  his  long-pent- 
up  tenderness. 

She  trembled  like  a  scarce-opened  flower  in  the  first  wind 
of  summer,  and  yet  all  was  as  well  with  her  as  when  she 
had,  as  a  child,  measured  herself  against  the  Titanic  force 
of  the  elements  in  commotion  around  her.  She  knew 
now  that  love  was  no  weakness,  but  a  mighty  power, 
and  that  it  was  divine  to  put  forth  this  power.  She 
raised  her  head  at  last,  and  looked  at  him  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.  "Johannes, — dearest,  best, — forgive — for- 
give my  faults  and  failings — I  repented  them  so  long 
ago!" 

He  leaned  over  her,  and  whispered,  "  Ernestine,  only 
love,  do  you  now  confess  the  third  power  of  which  I 
once  told  you  ?" 


538  ONLY  A   GIRL; 

"Yes,  yes,  I  confess  and  bow  before  it."  She  folded 
her  hands,  and  her  face  seemed  for  a  moment  transfigured. 
"Oh,  Spirit  of  Love,  dwell  in  my  heart,  and  teach  me  to 

be  worthy  of  him  who  is  so  dear  to  me." 

****** 

There  was  a  double  wedding  such  as  the  town  of 

N had  never  seen  before  1  Mollner  and  Ernestine, 

Hilsborn  and  Gretchen,  were  married  on  the  same  day. 
There  was  a  great  crowd  before  the  quiet  house  where 
Professor  Mollner  lived,  to  witness  the  arrival  of  the 
numerous  guests  who  were  to  escort  the  bridal  parties  to 
church. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  bridesmaids,  but  an  old  one,"  was 
whispered  among  the  people  as  Elsa  and  her  brother 
alighted  from  their  carriage. 

"  And  that  is  another,  but  a  very  little  one,"  was  added, 
as  a  stalwart  young  man  lifted  a  charming  brown-eyed 
child  out  of  the  carriage.  She  was  dressed  in  white  with 
pink  ribbons,  and  had  a  huge  bouquet  in  her  hand. 

"  But,  oh,  she  has  only  one  arm  !"  was  uttered  in  a 
tone  of  compassion  as  she  passed  into  the  house,  accom- 
panied by  her  companion  bridesmaid,  and  disappeared 
beneath  the  garlands  and  among  the  flowering  shrubs 
with  which  the  hall  was  decorated. 

Within,  the  large  drawing-room  was  crowded  with 

the  science  and  respectability  of  N .  There  had  been 

great  astonishment  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  place 
when  Johannes'  actual  engagement  to  the  Hartwich  was 
announced,  but  all  agreed  that  Professor  Mollner  always 
knew  what  he  was  about ;  and  those  who  were  invited 
to  the  wedding  declared  themselves  delighted  with  the 
match. 

Even  Elsa  was  appeased  by  Mollner's  request  that  she 
would  act  as  bridesmaid.  "  I  am  glad  to  be  his  brides- 
maid," she  said  to  her  sister-in-law  in  the  morning.  "It 
will  break  my  heart,  but  I  will  not  repine  1  I  shall  fade 
away  like  a  blossom  that  zephyrs  waft  from  the  tree  be- 
fore it  can  become  fruit.  Oh,  no,  I  do  not  repine, — I  only 
share  the  fate  of  thousands  of  my  sisters.  The  blossom 
dying  the  death  of  innocence  in  its  virgin  purity  is  not 
to  be  pitied — no,  let  pity  be  for  him  who  could  crush 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  539 

it  beneath  his  tread  in  his  onward  path  without  ever 
dreaming  of  the  delight  that  it  might  have  given  him." 
She  did  not  foresee  that  the  poetic  death  that  she  antici- 
pated would  be  very  long  delayed,  and  that  she  would 
be  a  welcome  guest  in  Mollner's  house  in  future  years, 
as  "Aunt  Elsa"  to  a  throng  of  attentive  little  listeners 
whom  she  would  delight  with  many  a  tale  about  the 
elves,  gnomes,  and  wild  flowers  of  her  youth.  She  was 
dressed  in  character  on  the  present  occasion,  in  sea-green, 
with  a  wreath  of  cherry-blossoms  in  her  hair ;  a  long 
narrow  scarf  of  white  satin  fluttered  about  her  slender 
figure.  "Many  might  be  more  richly  clad,"  she  thought, 
"but  none  so  romantically  and  poetically." 

Her  brother  was  in  a  sad  state  of  mind  as  he  this 
morning  put  on  the  dress-coat  in  which  he  had  made  his 
first  appearance  a  year  before  in  the  Countess  Worrou- 
ska's  boudoir.  He  had  just  heard  that  the  beautiful 
countess  had  been  killed  in  a  race  at  St.  Petersburg,  and 
his  grief  at  the  death  of  the  woman  whom  he  still  loved 
was  increased  by  the  necessity  of  concealing  it. 

In  spite  of  the  number  of  guests,  there  was  a  solemn 
silence  reigning  in  the  large  apartment.  For  all  were 
awaiting  the  entrance  of  the  two  brides. 

Who  has  not  been  conscious  of  a  slight  shudder  at  the 
first  appearance  of  a  bride,  a  young  girl,  about  to  take  the 
most  important  step  of  her  life?  All  eyes  were  turned 
towards  the  door  of  the  antechamber. 

Johannes,  with,  his  mother,  and  Hilsborn,  with  Heim, 
placed  themselves  opposite  it,  the  guests  withdrew  from 
around  them,  and  a  space  through  the  centre  of  the  room 
was  left  free. 

Slowly,  and  enveloped  in  her  floating  veil  as  in  a  white 
cloud,  her  head  bowed  beneath  the  myrtle-wreath,  Ernes- 
tine entered  the  room.  Her  dark  eyelashes  were  droop- 
ing, and  upon  her  broad  brow  true  womanhood  was  en- 
tnroned.  She  paused,  bewildered  and  confused  by  the 
presence  of  so  many  people,  among  whom  the  whisper 
ran,  "  How  lovely  the  bride  looks  !"  In  defiance  of  all  rule, 
Johannes  hastened  to  her,  and  clasped  her  hands  in  his. 

"My  swan,"  he  whispered,  "now  you  have  unfolded 
your  plumage  1" 


540  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

Ernestine  bent  her  head  lower  still,  and  a  tear  fell  on 
his  hand. 

"Johannes,"  she  said  softly,  "  let  me  confess, — I  have 
loved  you  ever  since  you  made  known  to  me,  eleven  years 
ago,  the  promise  of  the  swan,  but  I  could  not  know  that  it 
was  only  through  you  that  the  promise  was  to  be  ful- 
filled !" 

"  You  loved  me  then,  and  could  reject  and  torment  me ! 
Oh,  Ernestine,  what  penalty  is  there  for  such  cruelty  ?" 

"  Only  one,  dearest,  but  a  severe  one, — grief  for  time 
wasted." 

"  Amen,  my  daughter,"  said  the  Staatsrathin  gravely. 

The  second  bride,  Gretchen,  now  entered,  with  blushing 
cheeks  and  a  radiant  smile.  Hilsborn,  with  his  foster- 
father,  went  to  her,  and  Heim  gave  her  his  paternal  bene- 
diction. Then  came  Angelika,  and  the  faithful  Willmers, 
who  had  discharged  the  office  of  dressing-maid  to  the 
pair. 

From  a  corner  of  the  room,  Johannes  led  forward  a 
bowed,  aged  form,  the  friend  whom  Ernestine  had  chosen 
to  give  her  away, — old  Leonhardt. 

"Father,"  she  said,  gently  taking  his  hand  in  one  of 
hers,  while  she  held  out  the  other  to  the  Staatsrathin, 
— "  father,  mother  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  I  thank  you 
both." 

"Ernestine,"  said  Leonhardt,  "only  one  day  in  my 
life, — the  day  of  my  own  marriage, — equals  this  in  hap- 
piness. God  bless  you  !"  The  old  man  was  happy  in- 
deed, for  the  day  before  Walter  had  handed  him  a  parch- 
ment roll  with  the  announcement  "  It  is  my  diploma." 

"Are  we  never  going  to  start  ?"  suddenly  exclaimed 
Moritz.  "These  lovers  are  not  in  any  hurry,  apparently. 
They  have  had  sufficient  time  to  make  up  their  minds, — 
pray  Heaven  they  are  not  regretting  their  decision.  To 
church,  then,  in  God's  name." 

"  In  God's  name,"  Ernestine  whispered,  and  the  words 
were  spoken  with  her  whole  soul. 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL,  541 


A  YEAK  LATER. 

"  WHO  would  have  thought  that  Ernestine  would  ever 
have  turned  out  such  a  woman  ?"  said  Moritz  Kern  in  a 
suppressed  tone  to  his  wife. 

The  pair  were  walking  to  and  fro  in  Mollner's  study, 
which  was  furnished  precisely  like  Ernestine's  former 
library,  and  they  were  evidently  awaiting  some  event 
with  anxiety. 

Half  bidden  by  the  heavy  folds  of  the  blue  curtains, 
Hilsborn  and  Gretchen  were  standing  at  the  window. 
They  did  not  speak,  their  hearts  were  too  full.  Gretchen's 
hands  were  folded,  as  though  she  were  breathing  a  silent 
prayer,  and  Hilsborn  stood  grave  and  anxious  beside  her. 
Even  Moritz  stopped  now  and  then  and  looked  towards 
the  door  of  the  adjoining  room,  as  if  expecting  it  to  open, 
but  he  evidently  wished  to  conceal  all  emotion,  and 
talked  on  gaily.  "Yes,  who  would  have  thought  it?  Jo- 
hannes must  have  been  puzzled  indeed  to  know  how  to 
train  that  scatterbrain." 

"  I  always  told  you  that  Johannes  could  do  whatever 
he  chose,  and  Ernestine  was  always  sweet  and  good  in 
reality,  only  she  had  been  so  warped  by  her  education," 
said  Angelika.  "I  liked  her  from  the  first  moment  that 
I  saw  her  after  she  was  grown  up,  and  you  know  I  always 
defended  her  from  your  attacks.  And  now  all  is  just  as 
I  said  it  would  be." 

"  Oh,  of  course!  I  really  should  like  to  hear  of  any- 
thing that  you  women  did  not  know  all  about  before- 
hand," laughed  Moritz.  "  You  are  always  so  much  sharper 
than  we.  If  Ernestine  had  made  her  husband  as  un- 
happy as  she  makes  him  happy,  we  should  hear  the  same 
thing, — '  Oh,  I  told  you  so,  I  saw  how  it  would  be  from 
the  first,  I  never  liked  her.'  I  know  you  well  !" 

"Are  you  not  ashamed,"  pouted  Angelika,  "to  go  on 
46 


542  ONLY  A    GIRL; 

with  your  silly  jests  when  we  are  all  so  anxious  ?  If  Jo- 
hannes should  lose  his  wife,  what  would  become  of  him?" 

"Ah,  bah!  he  is  not  going  to  lose  her.  Don't  be  fool- 
ish," said  Moritz. 

Hilsborn  came  towards  them.  "  Don't  make  yourself 
out  worse  than  you  are,  Moritz,"  said  he.  "  I  never  saw 
you  look  more  troubled  than  you  do  just  at  this  moment. 
You  know  well  enough  what  Ernestine  is  to  us  all." 

"  Deuce  take  it,  of  course  I  know  it !"  cried  Moritz, — 
"  she's  as  much  to  me  as  to  any  of  you, — but  I  hate  to 
hear  people  cry  before  they  are  hurt.  God  keep  her,  she's 
a  jewel  of  a  woman!" 

"Yes,"  said  Gretchen,  joining  in  the  conversation, 
"such  women  are  rare  indeed.  How  she  fulfils  every 
duty,  even  those  that  she  once  considered  so  dull  and 
commonplace!" 

"Yes,  yes,"  chimed  in  Angelika,  "my  mother  is  never 
weary  of  sounding  her  praises." 

"  This  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  she  has  accom- 
plished yet,"  said  Moritz.  "  Only  hear  these  two  notable 
housewives,  Hilsborn,  joining  in  a  chorus  of  praise  of  a 
third!  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  it?  I  never  did." 

"  She  deserves  it  all,"  answered  Hilsborn.  "  And  then 
she  is  invaluable  to  Johannes  as  a  scientific  companion 
and  assistant.  He  could  as  ill  spare  her  at  his  desk  or  in 
his  laboratory  as  at  the  head  of  his  household — or " 

"Hush!"  interrupted  Angelika,  "did  you  not  hear 
some  one  at  the  door?"  And  silence  reigned  in  the  room 
again  for  awhile. 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  a  boy, — Ernestine  longs  for  a  boy," 
sighed  Angelika. 

"  Past  two  o'clock,"  said  Hilsborn.  "  I  wish  they  would 
send  us  some  one  to  say  how  she  is." 

Suddenly  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  old  Heim's  deep 
voice  cried,  "  It  is  over." 

"  Thank  God  !"  they  all  exclaimed  as  with  one  breath. 

"  Is  it  a  boy?"  asked  Angelika. 

"No,  a  girl!" 

"  A  girl !"  said  Moritz.  "  Well, '  'tis  not  pretty,  bat  sin 
is  uglier,'  as  the  Suabian  said." 


OR  A   PHYSICIAN  FOR   THE  SOUL.  543 

"  Do  be  quiet!  What  would  Ernestine  say  if  she  heard 
you,  you  mocker?"  said  Angelika.  "May  we  not  go  to 
her,  Uncle  Heim  ?" 

"  No,  stay  where  you  are,"  said  the  old  man,  closing 
the  door. 

Within  Ernestine's  apartment  all  was  quiet  and  repose. 
Johannes  was  standing,  mute  with  happiness,  by  Ernes- 
tine's side,  supporting  her  head,  when  he  was  called  to 
look  at  his  little  daughter,  a  bundle  of  snowy  wrappings 
in  her  grandmother's  arms. 

He  took  the  little  creature  from  her  and  laid  it  by  his 
wife's  side.  "Mother,"  was  all  he  said,  leaning  over  her 
enraptured  for  awhile,  gazing  into  the  pure  delight  mir- 
rored in  her  eyes.  At  last  he  raised  his  head,  and  said, 
laughingly,  "But,  Ernestine,  'it  is  only  a  girl.'" 

"  Be  it  so.  I  do  not  question  what  God  has  sent  me. 
I  am  a  mother.  I  envy  no  man  now,  and  our  daughter 
shall  never  do  so.  We  will  cherish  and  train  our  child 
to  be  what  a  true  woman  should  be,  and  some  day  she 
may  say  to  one  whom  she  loves,  as  I  do  to  you,  my 
dearest,  '  Thank  God  that  I  ana  a  woman,  and  that  I  am 
yours.' " 

"Ernestine,"  said  Johannes,  "those  are  the  dearest 
words  you  could  utter.  Happy  the  daughter  of  such  a 
mother!  Father  Heim,  mother  dear,  did  you  hear  Ernes- 
tine's confession  ?  She  is  reconciled  at  last  to  the  destiny 
of  her  sex." 

Ernestine  gazed  at  the  atom  of  being  by  her  side,  as  if 
it  were  a  miracle.  She  quite  agreed  with  the  Staats- 
rathin  that  it  was  a  wonderfully  pretty  child  for  a  new- 
born baby,  and,  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  its  little  heart 
and  felt  its  regular  beating,  she  smiled  amid  her  tears, 
and  would  gladly  have  clasped  it  in  her  arms,  only  it 
seemed  so  frail  and  slight  she  was  afraid  of  breaking  it. 

"  Uncle  Heim,"  she  said,  "  I  once  thought  that  it  would 
have  been  better  if  you  had  left  me  to  die  when  my 
father  gave  me  that  almost  fatal  blow,  but  since  then  I 
have  been  often  grateful  to  you  for  preserving  my  life, 
although  never  so  grateful  as  at  this  moment." 

"  Ah,  bah  !"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  was  only  the  physi- 


544  ONLY  A    GIRL. 

cian  of  your  body.  Reserve  your  gratitude  for  this  fellow," 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  Johannes'  shoulder, — "he  was  the 
physician  for  your  soul,  and  so  judicious  was  his  treat- 
ment, that  now  you  can  have  some  comfort  of  your 
life." 

Ernestine  looked  up  gratefully  at  her  husband.  "  Yes, 
faithful  physician  of  my  soul, — your  medicines  were  very 
bitter,  but  they  were  my  salvation." 


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A  Few  Friends,  and  How   They  Amused  Them- 

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rangement  and  system  that  will  often  make 
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A  merican. 


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within  the  means  of  every  reader." — Bos- 
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definition,  which  make  the  story  pleasant 
and  fascinating.  Phases  of  life  are  also 
presented  in  terse  and  vigorous  words.  .  .  . 
It  is  high-toned  and  much  above  the  aver- 


age of  most  of  the  novels  issuing  from  the 
press." — Pittsbicrg  Gazette. 

"A  novel  which  has  the  merit  of  being 
written  in  graceful  and  clear  style,  while 
it  tells  an  interesting  story." — The  Inde 
pendent. 


"  One  of  the  most  elaborate  as  well  as 
the  most  unexceptionable  of  his  produc- 
tions."— N.  y.  Evening  Post. 


Siena.    A  Poem.    By  A.  C.  Swinburne.     \_Repub- 

lished  from  Lippincotfs  Magazine^     With  Notes.     i6mo.     Tinted 
paper.     Paper  covers,  25  cts. 

"  Is  polished  with  great  care,  and  is  by 
far  the  best  composition  we  can  recall  from 
Swinburne's  pen,  in  more  than  one  of  its 
effects." — Philada.  North  American. 

Recollections  of  Persons  and  Places  in  the  West. 
By  H.  M.  BRACKENRIDGE,  a  native  of  the  West;  Traveler,  Author 
Jurist.  New  edition,  enlarged.  I2mo.  Toned  paper.  Fine  cloth,  $2. 

"A  very  pleasant  book  it  is,  describing, 
in  ar.  autobiographical  form,  what  was 
'The  West'  of  this  country  half  a  century 
ago." — Philada.  Press. 


'  The   writer  of  these   '  Recollections' 
was  born  in  1786,  and  his  book  is  accord- 


ingly full  of  interesting  facts  and  anec- 
dotes respecting  a  period  of  Western  his- 
tory, which,  when  the  rapid  growth  of  the 
country  is  considered,  may  almost  be  called 
Pre-Adamite." — Boston  Evening  Tran- 
script. 


Infelicia.     A  Volume  of  Poems.     By  Adah  Isaacs 

MENKEN.  i6mo.  Toned  paper.  Neat  cloth,  $i.  Paper  cover, 
75  cts.  With  Portrait  of  Author,  and  Letter  of  Mr.  Charles 
Dickens,  from  a  Steel  Engraving.  Fine  cloth,  beveled  boards, 
gilt  top,  $1.50. 


with  the  living  author's  form,  and  it  serves 
to  drape  the  unhappy  life  with  the  mav.tle 
of  a  proper  human  charity.  For  herein 
are  visible  the  vague  Teachings  after  and 
reminiscences  of  higher  things."  —  Cin- 
cinnati Evening  Chronicle. 


"  Some  of  the  poems  are  forcible,  others 
are  graceful  and  tender,  but  all  are  per- 
vaded by  a  spirit  of  sadness." — Washing- 
ton Evening  Star. 

"The  volume  is  interesting,  as  reveal- 
ing a  something  that  lay  beyond  the  vul- 
gar eyes  that  took  the  liberty  of  license 

Dallas  Galbraith.    A  Novel.     By  Mrs.  R.  Hat  d- 

ING   DAVIS,   author   of    "  Waiting   for   the   Verdict,"   "  Marg^xet 
Howth,"  "  Life  in  the  Iron  Mills,"  &c.     8vo.     Fine  cloth,  $2. 


"  One  of  the  best  novels  ever  written  for 
an  American  magazine." — Pkilada. Morn- 
ing Post. 

"The  story  is  most  happily  written  in 
al!  respects." — The  North  American. 

"  As  a  specimen  of  her  wonderful  in- 
tensity and  passionate  sympathies,  this 
sustained  and  wholly  noble  romance  is 


equal  or  superior  to  any  previous  ach:  :ve 
nient." — Philada.  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  We  therefore  seize  the  opportunf  y  to 
say  that  this  is  a  story  of  unusual  pt  -<ver, 
opening  so  as  to  awaken  interest,  and 
maintaining  the  interest  to  the  en  ." — 
The  National  Baptist. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  6-   CO. 


Beatrice.      A    Poem.       By   Hon.    Roden    Noel. 

Square  i6mo.     Tinted  paper.     Extra  cloth,  gilt  top,  $i. 


"  It  is  impossible  to  read  the  poem 
through  without  being  powerfully  moved. 
There  are  passages  111  it  which  for  in- 
tensity and  tenderness,  clear  and  vivid 
vision,  spontaneous  and  delicate  sympathy, 
may  be  compared  with  the  best  efforts  of 
our  best  living  writers." — London  Spec- 
tator. 


"  Mr.  Noel  has  a  fruitful  imagination, 
and  such  a  thorough  command  of  language 
as  to  link  the  heart  and  tongue  in  that 
union  from  which  only  true  poesy  is  born.1' 
— N.  O.  Times. 

"  Mr.  Noel  has  no  rival.  He  sings  with 
fairy-like  and  subtle  power."  —  London 
A  tfienaunt. 


Breaking  a   Butterfly;    or,    Blanche    Ellerslte's 

Ending.  A  Novel.  By  the  author  of  "  Guy  Livingstone,"  &c. 
Author's  Edition.  With  Illustrations.  121110.,  Extra  cloth,  $1.50. 
Paper  cover,  50  cts. 


"  It  is  a  charming  story  of  English  life, 
and  marked  by  the  well-known  character- 
•  sties  of  the  author's  style,  in  which  the 
gorgeous  descriptions  of  manhood  are  pre- 
dominant."— Buffalo  Express. 

"  It  is  intensely  interesting,  full  of  life 
and  spirit,  and  throughout  is  written  in  the 


gifted  author's  most  captivating  vein." — 
Philada.  Age. 

"  It  is  a  story  which  every  one  will  find 
interesting  ;  and  it  is  written  with  an  easy 
grace  indicative  of  good  taste  and  large  ex- 
perience."— Albany  Journal. 


Singing. 


The  Voice   in 

Emma   Seiler. 
cloth,  $1.50. 


"We  would  earnestly  advise  all  inter- 
ested in  any  way  in  the  vocal  organs  to 
read  and  thoroughly  digest  this  remarkable 
work." — Boston  Musical  Times. 

"  It  is  meeting  with  the  favor  of  all  our 
authorities,  and  is  a  very  valuable  work. 
To  any  one  engaged  in  teaching  cultivation 
of  the  voice,  or  making  singing  a  study,  it 
will  prove  an  efficient  assistant." — Loomis' 
Musical  Journal. 


From    the    German    of 

Third   edition.      I2mo.      Tinted   paper.      Extra 


"This  -remarkable  book  is  of  special 
interest  to  teachers  and  scholars  of  vocal 
music.  It  is,  however,  of  value  to  that 
much  larger  number  of  persons  who  love 
music  for  its  own  sake.  Here,  almost  for 
the  first  time  in  English,  and  certainly  for 
the  first  time  in  an  American  book,  we 
have  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  phy- 
siology and  aesthetics  of  the  art  divine." — 
Philada.  North  A  merican. 


Abraham    Page,    Esq.       Life    and    Opinions   of 

Abraham  Page,  Esq.     I2mo.     Tinted  paper.     Fine  cloth,  $1.50. 


"  It  is  really  refreshing,  in  these  days  of 
sensational  stuff,  to  fall  upon  a  book  like 
Ihis,  written  with  the  easy,  well-bred  air 


of  a  gentleman,  and  the  grace  and  culture 
of  a  scholar." — Baltimore  Leader. 


What  I  Knotv  about  Ben  Eccles.    A  Novel.    By 

ABRAHAM  PAGE,  author  of  "The  Life  and  Opinions  of  Abraham 
Page,  Esq."     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


"  Quite  a  pathetic  story,  which,  without      sational,  will  enchain  the  attention  to  the 
being  at  all  of  the  kind  denominated  sen-      very  close." — Pittsburg  Ev.  Journal. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  S>   CO. 


The  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret.     After  the  German 

of  E.  Marlitt,  author  of  "Gold   Elsie,"  "  Countess   Gisela,"  &c. 
By  MRS.  A.  L.  WISTER.     Sixth  edition.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.75. 


"A  more  charming  story,  and  one  which, 
having  once  commenced,  it  seemed  more 
difficult  to  leave,  we  have  not  met  with  for 
many  a  day." — The  Round  Table. 

"Is  one  of  the  most  intense,  concentrated, 
compact  novels  of  the  day.  .  .  .  And  the 
work  has  the  minute  fidelity  of  the  author 


of  'The  Initials,'  the  dramatic  unity  of 
Reade,  and  the  graphic  power  of  George 
Elliot." — Columbus  (O.)  Journal. 
"Appears  to  be  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing stories  that  we  have  had  from  Europe 
for  many  a  day." — Boston  Traveler. 


Gold  Elsie.     From  the   German   of  E.   Marlitt, 

author  of  the  "  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret,"  "  Countess  Gisela,"  &c. 
By  MRS.  A.  L.  WISTER.     Fifth  edition.     lamo.     Cloth,  $1.75. 


"  A  charming  story  charmingly  told.' 
Baltimore  Gazette. 


"  A  charming  book.  It  absorbs  your 
attention  from  the  title-page  to  the  end." — 
The  Home  Circle. 

Countess  Gisela.  From  the  German  of  E.  Mur- 
litt,  author  of  "The  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret,"  "Gold  Elsie," 
"  Over  Yonder,"  &c.  By  MRS.  A.  L.  WISTER.  Third  Edition. 
I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.75. 


"  There  is  more  dramatic  power  in  this 
than  in  any  of  the  stories  by  the  same 
author  that  we  have  read." — N.O.  Times. 

"  It  is  a  story  that  arouses  the  interest 


of  the  reader  from  the  outset." — Piitsburg 
Gazette. 

"The  best   work  by  this   author. *  — 
Philada.  Telegraph. 


Over  Yonder.     From  the  German  of  E.  Marlitt, 

author  of  "  Countess  Gisela,"  "  Gold  Elsie,"  &c.     Third  edition. 
With  a  full-page  Illustration.     8vo.    Paper  cover,  30  cts. 


"  '  Over  Yonder'  is  a  charming  novel- 
ette. The  admirers  of  '  Old  Mam'selle's 
Secret'  will  give  it  a  glad  reception,  while 
those  who  are  ignorant  of  the  merits  of 


this  author  will  find  in  it  a  pleasant  in- 
troduction to  the  works  of  a  gifted  writer." 
— Daily  Sentinel. 


Three  Thousand  Miles  through  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains.  By  A.  K.  McCLURE.  Illustrated.  I2mo.  Tinted  paper. 
Extra  cloth,  $2. 


"Those  wishing  to  post  themselves  on 
the  subject  of  that  magnificent  and  ex- 
traordinary Rocky  Mountain  dominion 
should  read  the  Colonel's  book." — New 
York  Times. 

"  The  work  makes  one  of  the  most  satis- 
factory itineraries  that  has  been  given  to 
us  from  this  region,  and  must  be  read 
with  both  pleasure  and  profit." — Philada. 
North  A  merican. 

"  We  have  never  seen  a  book  of  Western 


travels  which  so  thoroughly  and  completely 
3  this,  nor  one  written  in  such 


satisfied  us  as 


agreeable  and  charming  style." — Bradford 
Reporter. 

"The  letters  contain  many  incidents  r\f 
Indian  life  and  adventures  of  travel  \\hich 
impart  novel  charms  to  them." — Chicagt 
Evening  Journal. 

"  The  book  is  full  of  useful  information.' 
— New  York  Independent. 

"  Let  him  who  would  have  some  propel 
conception  of  the  limitless  material  rich- 
ness of  the  Rocky  Mountain  region,  read 
this  book."—  Charleston  (S.  C.)  Courier. 


UC  SOUTHERN 


